"Can you hide Mistress Lanison?" whispered Crosby to Martin, glancing round the room. "They are not likely to search if you and I open the door to them."
Barbara started back, perhaps expecting the room door to burst in suddenly, perhaps to protest that she intended to share the danger, whatever it might be. Her ankle was suddenly seized and held tightly.
"Have a care, mistress," said Martin in a low tone, and, looking down at him, Barbara saw that where the hearth-stone had been there was now a hole. "There is one way that is not watched to-night, I warrant—this way."
He rose quickly from the stool and touched Crosby's arm.
"Go first. There are steps. Take my sword as well as your own. Then you, mistress. I come last to shut this up again."
There was a loud knock at the door. "Martin! Martin!"
"Sir John!" he whispered, and held up his finger to command silence.
"Martin! This riot is no concern of yours. Open! I have a message for you from Mistress Barbara."
"Quickly! They do not know you are here," whispered Martin.
Crosby went down into darkness, and held his hand to Barbara to steady her. Their heads had sunk below the floor level when the first blow was struck at the door. Martin had extinguished the candle and seized his fiddle. With his foot on the steps he drew the bow sharply across the strings—a little laugh. Then he went down, and at a touch the hearth-stone came slowly back into its ordinary position.