And so saying he dragged Malsain with no tender hand across the pavement of the stable. There was a black, vicious-looking cob in one of the stalls. Pierrebon flung his victim on the straw near the beast. "I should lie still," he said in warning; "the horse might kick."
Then he saddled up again, calmly selecting a third horse from the stable, from a stall where he saw some ladies' saddlery.
"This will do for mademoiselle," he muttered as he glanced around him with satisfaction; "all is ready here. And now for the ogre." Taking up the arquebus he looked at the priming, and made his way cautiously to the house.
CHAPTER IX
THE WHITE MASK
It is necessary to hark back a little now to the moment when Torquato Trotto, having given his instructions to Piero, went into the house. The stairway was empty, for both I and my charge were with La Marmotte, and the Italian ran upstairs with a footfall as light as that of a cat. On reaching the landing he stopped for a second, glanced around him, with the same feline caution that marked all his movements, and then, creeping forward on tiptoe, went along a corridor leading to a wing of the house.
At the extreme end of this gallery was a door, at which Trotto knocked softly. From within a strident voice said: "Come in!" Then followed an exclamation of pain, and a free oath.
Trotto smiled, shrugged his shoulders, as only an Italian can, pushed open the door, and entered the chamber. The spear-shaped flames of two tall candles but half lit the room, making a circle of wavering light. Beyond all was in uncertain gloom, through which one could dimly see the old tapestry and massive furniture of bygone years.
Where the light was brightest was an easy-chair, and there sat Simon of Orrain, with his bandaged right arm resting on a cushion, placed on a low table drawn close to him. As Trotto entered he looked up with a snarl.
"What is it? Did I not say I was to be left alone? Curse this arm!"