They were a craven crew,—bold enough when arrayed in their numbers against two men and one helpless girl, but terror-stricken at these fresh tidings.
That was my opinion of them at the time, but perhaps it was unjust. Every man who attended that meeting had done so at the deliberate risk of his life and liberty. Most of them had undoubtedly tramped the whole way to the rendezvous, through the storm and swelter of the summer night, and they were fatigued and unstrung. Also, the Russian—and especially the revolutionary Russian—is a queer psychological amalgam. Ordinarily as callous and stoical as a Chinaman in the infliction or endurance of death or torture, he is yet a bundle of high-strung nerves, and at any moment his cool cynicism is liable to give place to sheer hysteria.
Therefore at the warning shout, panic seized them, and they fled, helter-skelter, through the main door. In less than a minute the place was clear of all but ourselves and the dead and wounded on the floor.
Loris slammed the door, barred it, and strode back to us. Pendennis was kneeling beside Anne, calling her by her name, and I leaned against the wall, staring stupidly down at them. I was faint and dizzy all at once, incapable for the moment of either speech or action.
“Well done, my friend!” the Duke exclaimed. “You thought I had failed you, eh? Come, we must get out of this quickly. They will return when they find it is a ruse. Is she hurt?”
He pushed Pendennis aside unceremoniously, and lifted Anne in his arms, as easily as if she had been a child.
I think she must have been regaining consciousness, for I heard him say rapidly and tenderly:
“Courage, petite, thou shalt soon be safe.”
“Who are you?” demanded Pendennis, peering at him in perplexity. His disguise was palpable and incongruous enough, now that he was speaking in his natural voice.
“Her friend, as I presume you are; therefore follow if you would save her and yourself. There is no time for talk!”