"Shall we dash through them?" Juan whispered; and now I noticed that, as before in the hour of danger, his voice was firm and steady. "One might escape even though the other is taken." And I heard him mutter, in even lower tones: "Pray God it is you."
"No," I said. "No. We go together. Together escape or--die."
Then, even as I spoke, I saw what I had not observed before, owing to the dim light in which all was surrounded; saw that opposite to us on the landing--where the stairs turned--there was a door. Closed tight into its frame, 'twas true, yet leading doubtless into some room opening off the stairs which led up to the other one we had quitted.
I was near enough to put my foot out quietly and touch it with my toe and--God be praised!--it yielded, opened inward.
"Into it," I said in Juan's ear, "into it. They will pass it as they go up to where we have come from. When they have done so we may creep down. In!"
A moment later we had entered that room, had quitted the stairs--and the woman had come back and rejoined the men, was leading them up those very stairs, across the very spot where a few instants before we had been standing.
Yet our hearts leapt to our mouths--mine did, I know!--when we who were standing on the other side of the door heard him stop outside it, and, striking the panel with his finger--the rap of his nail upon it was clearly perceptible to our eager ears--say to the woman:
"Is this the room--are they here?"
The woman gave a low laugh in answer; then she said:
"Nay. Nay. 'Tis mine. By the saints! what should they do there! That handsome Inglés, devil though he be!--or that lovely boy? Heavens, no!" and again she laughed, and added: "Come. They are here. Up these stairs."