So busy were the plunderers that they left the room above the cellar quite unguarded.
“The coast is clear,” whispered Lucien, looking back. “We must act out our part of janissary and slave, father. Quick! Shoulder this small chest.”
Francisco obeyed almost mechanically, laid down the crowbar, threw a light chest that chanced to be near at hand on his shoulder, and followed his son silently up the staircase to the entrance-hall of the house, where they found two janissaries guarding the door.
“Pretend to stumble, father,” whispered Lucien, on observing them.
Francisco not only pretended to, but, in his zealous obedience, actually did stumble with such good will that he fell with a heavy crash on the marble pavement, sending the chest violently out at the door into the street, much to the amusement of the two sentinels.
“Scoundrel!” cried Lucien furiously, in Turkish, at the same time flourishing his scimitar and bestowing on his submissive parent a most unmerciful kick. “Up, out with you, and shoulder it! See that you mind your feet better, else the bastinado shall make them tingle!”
He brushed so savagely past the sentinels that they had not time to stop him, even if so disposed, then turning suddenly back, said—
“Your lantern, friend; one will serve you well enough, and I shall need the other with so awkward a slave.”
“Here it is, comrade,” replied the man; “but who and what hast thou got there?”
“Waste not your time in questions,” said Lucien hastily; “they have discovered heavy treasure inside, and require the aid of one of you. Surely it needs not two to guard a Jew’s door!”