“Monsieur,” he said, faintly, “c’est fini! Laissez-moi!”
There were some heavy chests of drawers in the corridor above, and Mornay directed that these be piled for a barricade. The stairway was here very narrow and but one man could come up at a time. So two chests were balanced on the incline of the stairs and two more were ready at the top to replace the others. When this was done, Mornay sent Quinn and Trice up to the next floor to gain the roof and find a way to the street.
When they were gone, Mornay leaned over the dying man upon the floor.
“My poor Vigot,” he said.
“Laissez-moi, monsieur,” whispered Vigot. “C’est fini. They cannot hurt me. Over the roof a window is open into the garret of the mercer’s. Go, but quickly, monsieur—quickly.”
Mornay tried to lift him, but a deep groan broke from his breast.
“Non, monsieur, non.”
Mornay and Cornbury lifted him, and, placing him on a bed in one of the rooms, quietly closed the door.
By this time the men below had reached the landing. Mornay had one advantage. While the movements of the figures below were plainly to be seen, there was no light above, and the Frenchman knew that the constables could not tell whether his party were one or six. It was plain that they did not relish an attack on the dark stairway. If they had not been able to gain the landing below, how could they expect to fare better here? They caught a glimpse of the dim outline of the chests of the barricade, but beyond that all was black and forbidding.
Mornay and Cornbury only waited long enough to give the fellows above a chance to get over the roof, when they, too, quickly followed. As they crawled out of the window they heard the voice of Ferrers cursing the men for laggards, and at last a clatter of feet and the fall of one of the chests down the stairs.