There were just three steps between us, and I held my pistol over them.
“I have the signet of Sophia Alexeievna,” I said fiercely, “and I hold this stair. He who comes up a step further comes at his peril.”
“Kukureku! The cock crows loudly,” cried the ringleader, mocking fiercely, “let us cut his comb!”
“And steal his mate!” cried another, provoking a loud laugh by this delicate witticism.
Yet something in my aspect and the weapon held them three steps down; but it could not be for long. I was at my wit’s end, and I heard those below begin to growl at the delay. I thought of the princess with a sickening horror; it would be over my dead body, but it would surely come.
Then, suddenly, a small creature darted out from under my arm and began to shriek:
“Look—look below—on the landing! There is Ivan Naryshkin—Ivan, the traitor—Ivan, the brother of the czarina!”
They turned with a howl, they forgot me, they began to plunge downward, and Maluta, springing through them like a flash, ran ahead, screaming:
“This way—this way! I saw him, and with him the Jew poisoner, Von Gaden; they fled this way—this way, I say!”
They followed like a pack of wolves, down and away into the gallery to the left, and the princess and I stood alone upon the stair. Her senses came to her more swiftly than did mine.