He was half way up the stairs when he met Morice hurrying down with Pierre Koustak at his side.
The old man was crying bitterly, but Morice was calm. The reckless idler of Carlton House, with head crammed by fopperies and vanities, had been transformed into a man—and a Marquis de Varenac.
"We must escape," he said, pausing for a moment. "They will not listen. And ... and we should reach Kérnak without delay."
"But how?" Michael's voice sounded harsh enough.
A roar from without and the sound of cracking timber answered him.
"Dieu de Dieu!" moaned Koustak. "Hasten, Messieurs, or it will be too late."
He clung to Morice's hand as he spoke.
"Koustak knows of a secret passage which leads to the stables," explained Morice hurriedly. "We can ride to Kérnak."
"To Kérnak."
The relief in Michael's voice rang high.