Madame took me up in her arms as though I had been a little child, and, soft-footed as a panther, carried me back to the side of the iron box. There she laid me down and bound my ankles, not gently, so that the blood flowed under the twine.
Then, with steady hands, she relighted the candle. I saw her face, livid with rage and fear, pitiless, glaring. She slid her hand into the pocket of her dress, that gray dress which she had copied from mine. Again for a fantastic, icy second I had that awful feeling that she was I, that I was she, that we were of the same spirit and flesh. When her hand came out it held a slender knife, fine and keen and delicate as a surgical instrument. With her other hand she sought and found the beating of my heart.
I now knew the manner of my death. I shut my eyes, and prayed that it would be over quickly.
There was the faintest sound above my head, and I opened my eyes. Before the woman saw my deliverance, I saw it. A beam that had made part of the sill, that crossed the passageway above us, slid quietly from its place, and into the opening a figure swung and dropped.
Before even it could reach the ground, the woman had put out the light and vanished like a ghost. I heard not so much as the rustle of her dress.
The figure from above landed lightly beside me, and flashed on an electric lantern. It was Paul Dabney. He bent over me, and drew a quick, sharp breath. I tried to cry out, “Follow the woman!” but my bound lips moved soundlessly.
“I have caught you,” he said dully. “It is the end.”
For me it was indeed the end, a far more bitter one than a knife in my heart. I should be taken. I should be tried for my life. Half a dozen people would swear that I was Madame Trème. Who would believe my incredible story? I was lost. I looked up at Paul Dabney with complete despair.
Footsteps came along the inclined plane, but Dabney did not turn around. Evidently he expected them, and they did not interest him. He was shaking, even his white lips were unsteady. I saw his hands open and shut. The light of the electric lantern, and the light that fell through the trapdoor which he had so mysteriously opened above our heads, made him ghastly visible, made the whole passageway, with its rafters and its red bricks, outlined with plaster, the iron box, the glimmer of jewels, plain to my sight. I saw two men coming towards me. Between them, by her arms, they held up Madame Trème.
“We've got her, sir!” said one of them triumphantly. I recognized Mrs. Brane's outdoors men, and thought confusedly that one of these was Hovey, the detective.