So that he should make no noise which might inform the woman he was there, if at any minute she should return to the room next to him, he took off his long boots and walked softly about seeking the few necessaries which he must take with him: to wit, his rapier, his pistols and cloak and hat. The other things he had with him, which were contained in the little valise for strapping in front of the saddle, he would leave behind. Jacquette, he knew, would understand in the morning, when he was found to be missing, that he had purposely left them and would see that they were placed in safe custody, while, even if she did not do so, their loss would be no serious thing.
Humphrey went to the door now, turning the key back as softly as might be so as to make no noise, and, next, took it from the inside and inserted it in the lock on the outside and pushed the door-to without shutting it, after which he drew his boots on once more and crept softly out. Then he locked the door and, dropping the key into his pocket, descended the stairs.
He met no one on them and, so far as he knew, no one saw him. The landlord was not in his room, as he could see through the glass window giving on to the passage: the door of the great general room was shut, though from it there issued a hum of voices, above all of which he could distinguish the loud boasting tones of Fleur de Mai as, doubtless, he indulged in some of his usual rhodomontades. Likewise, and he thanked heaven for it, the street door still stood wide open as though inviting custom. To add to his satisfaction the oil-lamp in the passage was extinct, it having probably been blown out by the warm southerly breeze that had arisen with the coming of the night.
"All is very well," Humphrey said to himself. "Yet a few moments more and 'Soupir' and I shall be on our road for Paris. Then, catch who can."
And he stepped out on to the place between the inn and the river.
[CHAPTER XV]
To reach the stables which were at the back of the Krone without passing through the kitchen (and it would have been madness for Humphrey to attempt to do so unnoticed, since the scullions and cook-maids were, he imagined, finishing their tasks for the night, while the drawers and servers were idling about and, probably, in some cases, emptying down their throats the heel-taps of various flasks and bottles), it was necessary to proceed to the end of the street, some houses off. Then, a turn to the left had to be made beneath the ramparts between the river and the city proper, and, next, still another to the left to bring Humphrey to the rear of the inn and the stables themselves.
This he knew well enough, as, in the morning, he had visited those stables to see the soldiers of the Duc de Lorraine who had escorted the Duchess from Nancy set out upon their journey back. And, good cavalier as he was, he had more than once in the past twenty-four hours gone to them to see that all was well with "Soupir" and that she was properly fed and groomed and attended to.
He strolled on, therefore, in an easy manner towards where the mare was, assuming the air of one who, after his supper, might be sauntering about by the side of the river ere seeking his bed, while inhaling the soft, warm southern breeze of the night. To appear well in keeping with such a person--one who might be a traveller taking his ease, or one on the road to or from France or, across the river, to the German States--he also went on to the bridge and gazed idly into the turbulent waters rushing beneath, and so walked across to Klein Basel, all with the desire to kill time.
"For," said Humphrey to himself, "I must be neither too soon nor too late. If I go in too early I may come against La Truaumont or his myrmidons seeking to know if all is well with the animals, which I desire not to do. While, if I tarry too long I may find the door fast for the night, whereby 'Soupir' and I cannot come at each other."