Bidding Abdon and Michelot lead the horses, and still speaking in my assumed voice, I desired Mademoiselle and the Chevalier—who had not yet sufficiently recovered from his bewilderment to have found his tongue—to follow me. I led the way up the gentle slope to the spot where our first victims were pinioned.
Montrésor's comely young face looked monstrous wicked in the moonlight, and his eyes rolled curiously as he beheld me. Stepping up to him I freed him of his gag—an act which I had almost regretted a moment later, for he cleared his throat with so lusty a torrent of profanity that methought the heavens must have fallen on us. At last when he was done with that—“Before you leave me in this plight, M. de St. Auban,” quoth he, “perchance you will satisfy me with an explanation of your unfathomable deeds and of this violence.”
“St. Auban!” exclaimed the Chevalier.
“St. Auban!” cried Yvonne.
And albeit wonder rang in both their voices, yet their minds I knew went different ways.
“No, not St. Auban,” I answered with a laugh and putting aside all counterfeit of speech.
“Par la mort Dieu! I know that voice,” cried Montrésor.
“Mayhap, indeed! And know you not this face?” And as I spoke I whipped away my wig and mask, and thrust my countenance close up to his.
“Thunder of God!” ejaculated the boy. Then—“Pardieu,” he added, “there is Michelot! How came I not to recognise him?”
“Since you would not assist me, Montrésor, you see I was forced to do without you.”