And then we heard every word as it fell from their lips.
"That house opposite," the leader said, "is the last to be examined except this and another"--while Juan whispered: "I cannot catch its name--It sounds like the San Cristobal. Yes. Yes. 'Tis that. Ha! And, see, they enter the house opposite. Yet some remain in the street." And we both peered from behind the side of the window at them as they stood there in the road, a crowd of urchins gathered round.
"We are trapped," I said, "trapped. We can never get out. The horses are in the stables behind--also, the gates are shut."
"God!" exclaimed Juan, suddenly, even as I spoke, "they have finished there already--are coming here. Another five minutes and they will be in this room."
"What shall we do?" he wailed a moment later.
"Escape while there is time--from this room, at least. Loosen your sword in its sheath--follow me," and I drew him back from the window.
"But where? Where to go to?"
"Out of the house, at least. Come. The stairs lead down to the back part of the house; there is the yard and the stables--also a garden. I observed it when the horses were put up. Come. There is a wall at the end of the garden which separates it from another. If we can get over that we can at least escape into the town. By God's grace, there may be some way out of it besides the gates. And we have the cloak of night to help us."
All the time I was speaking I had been drawing Juan toward the door; also I had seen that my papers and money were bestowed about me safely--I doubted if we should ever see our valises again!--or, for the matter of that, our horses. It would be heaven's providence now if we ever got out of this town alive, and even that I deemed unlikely. And at this crisis that was all we had to hope for, if so much.
"Lift your porte epée by the hand," I whispered. "If the scabbard clanks on the stairs we are undone. Follow me."