I glanced at the sky and saw that she was right, for a bank of clouds from which came rumblings of distant thunder was every moment growing more threatening. We turned hurriedly down the Rue des Frondeurs, and in a moment had plunged into one of the irregular and squalid quarters of the city. But the girl went forward without hesitation and as though well acquainted with the road. We passed through a maze of short streets running in all directions, apparently at haphazard, and suddenly my companion paused at a corner house.
“This is the place,” she said. “The man I have come to see lives on the second floor. That is his window you see up there. Do you await me here, M. de Brancas. I will be back in a moment,” and without waiting for me to answer, she plunged into the dark and narrow entrance.
I glanced up and down the street apprehensively, for her statement as to the efficiency of the police department, added to my own vague fears, had filled me with alarm, but we were seemingly unobserved. A crowd of poorly dressed people was passing in either direction, and a rabble of children was playing in the gutter in the middle of the street, but no one paused to cast a second glance at me. The darkened sky had thrown the street into a gloom which rendered the sagging houses threatening and terrible, an effect which an occasional flash of lightning served to heighten. The moments passed, and I paced impatiently up and down before the door, wondering what had detained the girl. I had just determined to mount the stairs and find out for myself when I heard a crash of glass above me and a scream for help in a woman’s voice, which I recognized only too plainly.
In an instant I was through the doorway and stumbling up the dirty staircase with drawn sword, cursing the darkness which delayed my progress, I arrived at the first landing and paused a moment to listen, but heard nothing. I reflected that the window she had shown me was on the floor above, and mounted cautiously, not knowing what the danger might be towards which I was advancing. Again I paused to listen, but still heard nothing. I strained my ears, and in a moment fancied I heard a moan. I felt before me and found a door. I applied my ear to the keyhole and heard a second moan, which could not this time be mistaken. With a bound I flung my body against the door. It gave way with a crash and I was precipitated into the room beyond. By an effort I kept my feet, and at a glance I saw in one corner a man bending over the prostrate form of my companion.
He turned a startled face towards me as I entered and half started to rise, but I was upon him ere he could draw his weapon, and ran him through by the mere force of my onslaught. He fell like a log, but at the moment I turned to the prostrate girl I heard hurrying feet upon the stair without, and I sprang towards the door, my sword gleaming red in my hand, to meet this new danger.
CHAPTER XII
A CONFERENCE WITH CELLAMARE
“What have we here?” cried a voice from the staircase. I could perceive no one because of the darkness, but I knew from the accent that the speaker was not a Frenchman.
“Enter, monsieur,” I said, realizing that I could do nothing against an antagonist who remained invisible. “Enter, and we shall doubtless be able to arrive at an explanation.”
“Ah, ah!” cried the voice again, “but I do not know you, monsieur. Stay; do not move,” he continued, as I advanced a step towards the door. “I have you covered with two pistols, and I desire you to remain where you are for the present. I might miss with one, but I should surely kill you with the other. Now, pray tell me what you are doing in this room.”
“I heard a lady cry out in distress,” I answered, reflecting rapidly that the statement of this simple fact could compromise no one and that it was necessary to gain time. “I ran up the stairs, broke open the door, and cut down a scoundrel whom I found choking her.”