"Take hold of this," he directed.
Horace took the cage and set it on the floor in his room. The amber eyes glittered as evilly as ever.
"Now," said Croquier, still in that same strained whisper, "give me a hand up."
Bracing himself firmly, Horace leaned down and held out his hand.
The hunchback grasped it in his terrible grip and with a jerk which almost pulled the boy's arm out of its socket, he clambered to the window and climbed in. Then, moving so quietly that he made absolutely no noise, he squatted down on the floor beside the cage.
"Where in the name of wonder have you been?" asked Horace.
The hunchback brushed the question aside.
"I've doubled on those fiends a dozen times," he said. "They haven't caught me yet, and they never will. Now, listen to me closely. Those pigs of Germans have found a keg of brandy and they're drinking themselves courageous so as to be brave enough to attack this house. You and your aunt must leave and leave now!"
"Aunt won't go," said Horace, "there's no use asking her. I spoke about it, again, this evening."