Leoni turned from him, walked slowly to the outer door, opened it as if about to pass out, and then closed it again, to return quickly to his two companions, and whispering softly in so low a voice that it was hard to hear:
“By taking his place while he escapes, and personating him as he lies here bandaged, his face half hidden in the shadows of the heavy hangings of the bed in this darkened room.”
“I am ready,” said Saint Simon huskily.
“And I!” cried Denis. “But—the Comte?”
“I have thought of that,” said Leoni. “He is too ill to understand what is done, and I can mould him to my wishes in every way. We are free, as his servants, to come and go from the chamber, and there may be ways by which we can escape—three of us—that is, the Comte and two followers, while one brave devotee assumes his master’s aspect as a wounded man. It may be days before the discovery takes place, and by that time all may be safe. Denis, boy, will you do this thing and be for the time being the simulacrum of him we serve? Good: your face speaks. I knew it. It is not a question of likeness, but of wearing a heavy bandage that will nearly hide your face.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Leoni spoke again.
“What about the way?” he said. “It is night now, but if we could gain the grounds—but how?”
“The secret passage, sir,” whispered Denis. “It availed once, why not again?”
“The passage!” cried Leoni. “No; once used, they will guard it safely now. But stop; they do not know that we escaped that way, and it might prove as sure an exit as it did before. I have seen no guard in that corridor since our return.”
“Nor I,” said Denis eagerly.