“Then there’s some foul play on foot!” I cried.
“Yes, foul play,” she whispered. “They’ll not let us have the news! They’ll keep the news from us!” For a moment I thought that she would collapse altogether, but as suddenly as she had given way, she recovered. She drew a deep fluttering breath, released herself from my arm, stood up. She glanced, pale and frowning, at the man who leant from the other window. He, too, was striving to make out what was passing, and from time to time he gave vent to his excitement in an oath. He had forgotten us, and forgotten his duty, too, if it was to guard us. While one might count five she considered him; then deftly, with her eyes still fixed on him she drew a pistol from some hidden place in her dress, and slipped it into my hand. “Can you use it?” she whispered.
“Yes,” I muttered.
Then, “Now!” she said.
I cocked it, saw that the priming was in its place, and took two steps towards the man. “Halloa!” I cried.
He drew in his head and found himself covered by the pistol; a pistol is a thing a one-armed man can use. “Go down!” I said. “Quick!” He opened his mouth to speak. “Quick, my man, go down!” I repeated. “Or—that’s better!” I said, as, still covered by the muzzle he moved unwillingly to the head of the ladder, and began, swearing furiously, to descend. “Tell your rogue of a leader,” I went on, “to come under the window and speak to me!”
I should have followed the man down, seen him out, and barred the outer door, thus securing the horses; but one of the gang was in the lower doorway, and though his attention was fixed on the scene that was passing outside I feared to lose all by trying to gain too much. Instead I waited until our man’s head was below the level of the floor, then I dropped the pistol and shut down the trap upon him. As quickly as I did it, Constantia was at my elbow with the heaviest case she could drag forward. We set it on the trap-door, furiously piled a second on the top of it and a third on that. Then we looked at one another. Her eyes were gloomy. “They have killed him!” she exclaimed. “They have killed Tom!”
“I hope not,” I said. “They may have fired to frighten him!”
“And the news!” she panted. She clasped her hands. “He brought news!”
The news? Ay, it was that which had done it! She was hungering, thirsting, parched for the news, and they kept it from her! She could have killed the men, for that! And yet, what news, I wondered, had she in her mind? What news could she expect at this hour of the day, when Pete could barely have delivered his message?