One swift glance around showed me the truth of my vague suspicions, and warned me, too, of my peril. It was a weird sight. At the far end of the place a small furnace was burning, casting a vivid glow upon the white, startled faces of the men who were grouped around it. One held in his hand a great ladlefull of hissing liquid, and another on his knees was holding steady the mould which was to receive it. But though they kept their positions unchanged, they thought no more of their tasks. The attention of one and all was bent upon me in horror-struck amazement.
The man who first recovered himself sufficiently to be able to frame an articulate sentence was the man holding the ladle.
“Are you mad, de Cartienne?” he hissed out. “What have you brought that young cub down here for?”
“I have brought him here,” he answered, with a shade of contempt in his tone at the alarm which they were all showing, “because he is safer here than anywhere else—for the present.
“Somehow or other—probably by looking inside that unfortunate box—this young cub, as you call him, knows our secret. To let him go would, of course, be absurd, so I’ve brought him here to be tried for his unpardonable curiosity. What shall we do with him? I propose that we throw him into the river.”
I moved a little farther back towards the door, listening with strained ears and bated breath, for I fancied that I heard a faint sound of voices and footsteps above. Apparently the others had heard it, too, for there was a death-like silence for a few moments. Then spoke the Count.
“That must be Drummond with the box. Will you go and see, Ferrier?”
There was the trampling of many feet outside, and then a sudden swift torrent of blows upon the closed door.
In an instant all was wild confusion. Count de Cartienne was the only one who was not panic-stricken.
“The game is up,” he cried fiercely, “and here is the traitor.”