Against the wall back of the stairs sat a burly figure, one hand pressed to his shoulder. A red stream oozed between his fingers, and his dull eyes showed that he was only half-conscious. He was groaning spasmodically with each breath. Across from him was an open door, and looking cautiously through it, Crochard perceived on the floor of the room beyond a second burly figure, motionless on its back.
"Upon my word!" he commented. "That young fellow does his work well! A charming exploit! But we must not be found here!" And without waiting to see more, he sprang back up the stair. Vard was standing where he had left him, his beloved box clasped tightly against his breast, his eyes staring straight before him, vacant and expressionless.
"Come," said Crochard, and took his hand. "The way is clear. But we must hasten."
Vard went with him down the stair; but at the foot he paused.
"And Kasia?" he asked.
"She is safe. Come. We will go to her."
Obediently as a child, the white-haired man followed his companion out into the night.