Des-Essars smiled. ‘C’est toi, Paris?’
His question was answered by another. ‘Tiens, qui est ce drôle?’
Paris, for a thousand pound! Knocking again, he declared himself. ‘It is I, Paris—M. Des-Essars.’
‘Monsieur Baptiste, your servant,’ then said Paris through the door.
‘My lord is a prisoner, Paris?’
‘Not for the first time, my dear sir.’
‘How many are you there?’
‘Four. My lord, and Monsieur de Huntly, myself, Jock Gordon.’
‘Well, you should get out—but quickly, before they have finished in the hall. They are passing men out. Be quick, Paris—tell my lord.’