And before them, revolver swinging in his slender hand, strode Buckhurst, a red sash tied across his breast, his colorless eyes like diamonds.
Speed and Jacqueline came hurrying through the hall to where I stood; Buckhurst’s smile was awful as his eyes flashed from Speed to me.
Behind him, close to his shoulder, the torch-light fell on Mornac’s smooth, false face, stretched now into a ferocious grimace; behind him crowded the soldiers of the commune, rifles slung, craning their unshaven faces to catch a glimpse of us.
“Demi-battalion, halt!” shouted an officer, and flung up his naked sabre.
“Halt,” repeated Buckhurst, quietly.
Madame de Vassart’s servants had come running from kitchen and stable at the first alarm, and now stood huddled in the court-yard, bewildered, cowed by the bayonets which had checked them.
“Buckhurst,” I said, “what the devil do you mean by this foolery?” and I started for him, shouldering my way among his grotesque escort.
For an instant I looked into his deadly eyes; then he 364 silently motioned me back; a dozen bayonets were levelled, forcing me to retire, inch by inch, until I felt Speed’s grip on my arm.
“That fellow means mischief,” he whispered. “Have you a pistol?”
“I gave mine to Eyre,” I said, under my breath. “If he means us harm, don’t resist or they may take revenge on the Countess. Speed, keep her in the room there! Don’t let her come out.”