MRS. LLOYD KITTREDGE
The details of the hours that followed remained blurred memories in the minds of Alice and her rescuer. There was, first, a period of utter blank when Coquenil, overcome by the violence of his struggle and the agony of his burns, fell unconscious near the unconscious girl. How long they lay thus in the dark playground of the fairies, so near the raging fire, yet safe from it, was never known exactly; nor how long they wandered afterwards through a strange subterranean region of passages and cross passages, that widened and narrowed, that ascended and descended, that were sometimes smooth under foot, but oftener blocked with rough stones and always black as night. The fairies must have been sorry at their plight, for, indeed, it was a pitiable one; bruised, blistered, covered with grime and with little else, they stumbled on aimlessly, cutting their bare feet, falling often in sheer weakness, and lying for minutes where they fell before they could summon strength to stumble on. Surely no more pathetic pair than these two ever braved the mazes of the Paris catacombs!
Perhaps the fairies finally felt that the odds were too great against them, and somehow led them to safety. At any rate, through the ghastly horror of darkness and weakness and pain there presently came hope—flickering torches in the distance, then faint voices and the presence of friends, some workingmen, occupied with drainage repairs, who produced stimulants and rough garments and showed them the way to the upper world, to the blessed sunshine.
Then it was a matter of temporary relief at the nearest pharmacy, of waiting until Pougeot, summoned by telephone, could arrive with all haste in an automobile.
An hour later M. Paul and Alice were in clean, cool beds at a private hospital near the commissary's house, with nurses and doctors bending over them. And on a chair beside the girl, battered and blackened, sat Esmeralda, while under the detective's pillow was the scorched but unharmed diary of De Heidelmann-Bruck!
"Both cases serious," was the head doctor's grave judgment. "The man is frightfully burned. The girl's injuries are not so bad, but she is suffering from shock. We'll know more in twenty-four hours." Then, turning to Pougeot: "Oh, he insists on seeing you alone. Only a minute mind!"
With a thrill of emotion the commissary entered the silent, darkened room where his friend lay, swathed in bandages and supported on a water bed to lessen the pain.
"It's all right Paul," said M. Pougeot, "I've just talked with the doctor."
"Thanks, Lucien," answered a weak voice in the white bundle. "I'm going to pull through—I've got to, but—if anything should go wrong, I want you to have the main points. Come nearer."
The commissary motioned to the nurse, who withdrew. Then he bent close to the injured man and listened intently while Coquenil, speaking with an effort and with frequent pauses, related briefly what had happened.