"No," answered Raoul, "but there is a bed in the corner. Bring the candle."
We ran across the room quickly, and there, fully dressed, but with his arms bound, lay Peleton. His face was ghastly white, and he shook with fear.
"Get up," I cried sharply—there was no leisure for ceremony—"do you hear?"
"What do you want with me?" he whined, for, with all his bluster, the fellow had no more pluck than a pigeon.
"To carry you to Condé—dead or alive—you can take your choice. If you listen to my advice, you will come peaceably. I will go first, Raoul; you come behind and keep a sharp eye on our friend."
"And I will use a sharp sword if he doesn't mind himself," said Raoul.
Now I shall always believe that as soon as his first fright had passed, Peleton was rather pleased than otherwise to accompany us. His information would be worth much to Condé, and I have no doubt he expected to drive a very good bargain. He did not attempt the least resistance, nor did he endeavour to lag behind as I hurried him from the room.
We had reached the head of the stairs when I drew a sharp breath, and Raoul uttered a cry of anger. The scene was lit up by the flare of torches, and Pillot's shrill laugh came floating up to us. At the same moment we heard Henri's mocking voice, and there, sword in hand, stood my cousin, barring our path. Below him were several brawny ruffians, bearing pikes and clubs, and, last of all, Pillot, who shouted with good-humoured banter, "Aha! the wheel has turned again, monsieur!"
Henri affected to treat the matter as a joke, saying, "Chut! Albert, did you not know Peleton was my guest? I cannot allow him to leave at this hour! The night air is not good for him. Return to your room, M. Peleton, my cousin will accept your excuses."
"A truce to this farce," I cried. "Will you let us pass peacefully?"