"By that door yonder, monsieur," replied Pierre, pointing to a small door in the corner.
"If anybody comes and asks about me, say that I have gone home. Pull yourself together for the sake of monsieur and madame."
"But, monsieur----"
"Chut! The party is breaking up. Listen! They are going to their rooms in the east wing. Courage, my friend!"
He extinguished the oil lamp, pressed Pierre's hand, and stole noiselessly through the door in the corner. It opened to a narrow staircase. At the head of this there was a passage leading between bedrooms to the main staircase farther along. There was no lamp in the passage, but a faint shine through a skylight lit dimly its farther end. And just as Burton gained the top step, and peered cautiously round the edge of the wall, he was amazed to see Major Schwikkard unlock a door on the left, and enter the room.
"Go into the next room," came the curt command in French.
"Monsieur, I cannot leave my son," protested the marquise. "Have you no humanity at all?"
"Gabble is useless. Go into the next room, and take the old man with you. Or shall I shoot him before your eyes?"
The two old people came into the passage, followed by the major, who hustled them into the adjoining apartment, locked them in, and returned. Burton, dreading lest he intended to proceed at once to extremes with the wounded man, and resolved at any cost to prevent it, darted on tip-toe along the passage to the room in which the marquis and his wife were shut up, silently unlocked the door, and whispering, "Courage, monsieur et madame: await my return," he left them, and went to the next door. It was closed.
Through it he heard the German's voice. It was no time to shirk risks. Grasping the handle firmly, he turned it, and gently pushed the door, little by little, until he could see into the room.