[CHAPTER XVII]
THE SECRET PERISHES
The scene had not lasted a minute; and in less than a minute the readjustment had taken place. Defeat was changed to victory.
A precarious victory. Dorothy knew that a man like d'Estreicher would not long remain the dupe of the illusion with which, by a stroke of really incredible daring, she had filled his mind. Nevertheless she essayed the impossible to bring about the ruffian's capture, a capture which she could not effect alone, and which would only become definite if she kept him awed till the freeing of Webster, Errington, and Marco Dario.
As authoritative as if she were disposing of an army corps, she gave her orders to her rescuers:
"One of you stay there with the rifle leveled, ready to fire at the slightest movement, and let the remainder of the troop go to set the prisoners free! Hurry up, now. Go round the tower. They're to the left of the entrance—a little further on."
The remainder of the troop was Castor and Pollux, unless Saint-Quentin went with them, thinking it best simply to leave his rifle, model 1870, resting in the loop-hole and aimed directly at the ruffian.
"They are going.... They are entering.... They are searching," she said to herself, trying to follow the movements of the children.
But she saw d'Estreicher's tense face little by little relax. He had looked at the barrel of the rifle. He had heard the quiet steps of the children, so different from the row which a band of peasants would have made. Soon she no longer doubted that the ruffian would escape before the others came.
The last of his hesitation vanished; he let his arms fall, grinding his teeth.