“Saint Denis!” I exclaimed sharply, “do not tell her. This is no case for a woman!”
The Swede had recovered his composure and was watching us. I read his face, and saw that he knew that M. de Lambert was pleading for him; hope was kindling in his eyes. I pitied him myself more than I chose to admit; he looked but a boy, and I knew only too well the truth of M. de Lambert’s plea.
“Young man,” I said harshly, “you will be shut up in this house for an hour or so while we deliberate, but prepare yourself for the worst. M. de Lambert,” I added, “let Pierrot take him to the west room and guard the door.”
M. de Lambert looked at me a moment, as if endeavoring to read my thoughts, and then went himself with the prisoner, who submitted without a word, a look of dull despair on his face. I heard them walk across the hall, heard the thud of the bar in its sockets as M. de Lambert secured the door. Then I heard him summon Pierrot to go on duty at the door. After a moment he came back and sat down at the table. I had extinguished two of the tapers, but the light of the remaining one fell on his face, which was still anxious. We looked straight into each other’s eyes.
“It was the only way,” I said, after a moment, smiling in spite of myself.
“He is extremely dull,” M. de Lambert replied thoughtfully, “and half stupefied with terror.”
“But, monsieur,” I said dryly, “the window is unbarred.”
Guillaume’s face lighted. “Then surely it will dawn upon his intelligence,” he exclaimed with relief.
“It is an awkward situation,” I returned, “and if he is the blockhead I think him, he may not look for an escape.”
“Or Touchet or Pierrot may recapture him,” suggested my companion, uneasily.