His next act was to remove the key to the garden side of the lock. This done, “Now,” he whispered, and Francis, who seemed more than ever under his control, stepped quietly out, followed by Saint Simon; after which the door was cautiously locked, and Leoni slipped the key into his pocket.
There was another pause, which made Saint Simon utter a low deep growl.
“What is it, boy?” said Leoni.
“The boat! The boat!” whispered the young man. “We are losing time.”
“Perhaps gaining it, my dear Saint Simon,” was the reply. “Youth is rash; age is cautious. Our progress must be slow and sure.”
He took and pressed the young man’s hands as he spoke, before leaving him to take a few strides for observation along the path, and then returning, musing to himself that all seemed too easy, and that at any moment there might be some sudden check to their progress.
Back once more, he bade his two companions follow, leading them slowly and cautiously on, sword in one hand, stiletto in the other, as advance-guard, Saint Simon, similarly prepared, forming the rear; and then on and on they went downward through the bushes, which ever and again brushed against their sleeves, and twice over startled and arrested by a sudden dash as of an enemy; but it was nothing worse than a startled bird, blackbird or thrush, roused from its roosting sleep by the disturbers of its rest.
And so downward along the winding, well-marked paths, with nothing to hinder their progress, no guards to arrest, and Leoni strong in the belief that some great check must come, settling in his mind that the encounter would be down by the landing-place when they tried to set free the boat.
In this belief when they were nearly there he stopped short, laid his hand upon the King’s shoulder to press him aside, and whispered to Saint Simon to join him in the front.
“There may be watchers there,” he said. “Be well on the alert.”