“Through with you,” he whispered, with a contemptuous ring in his voice. “I would lead, but I must come last to close the way, for they must not know the route we have taken in our flight.”
The young officer passed through without a word, and, half ashamed of his hesitation, Francis followed, to have his hand seized in the darkness by Saint Simon, who led him for a few yards along the dark passage, where they stopped listening, to hear Leoni close the door with a faint, half-smothered click.
Leoni joined them the next moment, “Let me pass now and go first,” he whispered. “The passage is very narrow, and dark as dark. Thanks, Saint Simon,” he continued, as he squeezed by him; and then, as if to himself, but loud enough for Francis to hear, “and then if there is any trap or pitfall in the way I shall be the sufferer, and they will hear me and escape. Ah,” he continued to himself, “the way seems easy, and what did the lad say?—that it led after several turns to some stairs which descended to the ground floor, and finally to a door which opened upon a bosky portion of the terrace, and from there led on through various alleys to the river, a flight of steps, and a boat. Ah, a good way to escape; but we must have our horses, and trust to them. Well, once within the grounds—I have not been here all these days for nothing—and it will go hard if I do not find my way to the stabling, where Denis should be waiting with the ready saddled steeds, if he has done his duty as I bade.”
As he thought this over to himself, breaking it up, as it were, into sentences between which were whispered words of encouragement to those who followed, bidding them come on, telling them that all was clear, and to beware of “this angle,” and the like, he passed on and on with outstretched hands in front, his fingers gliding on either side over smooth stone walls, till at last he was suddenly checked by a blank.
“Ah!” he muttered, as he felt about cautiously. “This should be the top of the steps.” And so it proved; for, proceeding carefully from the angle along to his left, his advanced foot, as he glided it over the floor, rested on an edge.
“The topmost stair,” he muttered.
Making certain that it was, Leoni uttered fresh warnings, and then began to descend, followed slowly by his companions. At the bottom they proceeded for a while upon the level, when he was brought up short by his fingers encountering on one side the great iron pintle of a hinge, while the other touched the edge of a stone rebate, into which a heavy door was sunk.
“Hah!” he uttered, with a sigh of relief. “Here is the way out of this kingly fox-burrow.” And his hand glided down the edge of the door till it came in contact with a huge lock, about which for a few moments his fingers played, while a chill ran through him, filling him with despair, for the truth had come upon him like a flash: there was no key in the lock; the door was fast; and just in this hour of triumph they were as much prisoners as if they were in a cell.
“Well, Leoni,” whispered Francis, “why are you stopping? This place makes me feel as if I could not breathe.”
“I am not stopping, sir,” said the doctor bitterly; “I have been stopped.”