Joscelyn’s hands were like ice as she took up the light and led the way into the hall, and there stopped in front of the attic door.
“This is the only other apartment on this floor. It is the attic over the pantry and kitchen, and extends to the right the length of this hall and of mother’s room, which you have just quitted. There is no other entrance but this door in the corner, as you will see.”
“Take the light, orderly,” said Tarleton, as she turned over the keys in the basket. This was not what she wanted, but she yielded it without a demurrer.
The key turned easily, and opening the door she stepped in, still keeping her hand upon the knob, which action brought her within a foot and a half of the wall behind. Still holding the door and facing about she pointed down the long, narrow apartment.
“Will you make yourselves at home, gentlemen?”
Tarleton’s spirits rose; the shadows and heaped-up odds and ends in the far side of the room seemed a covert for noble game. There was no furniture at this end against which the door opened, only bags of seed and dried peppers and herbs hanging along the wall in rear of the girlish figure. His quick glance took this in; then motioning his orderly to follow, he went down the length of the apartment, the light glinting on the pistols in each man’s hand. On the shelves were carefully folded piles of bedclothes, and behind the chest a smooth roll of carpet powdered with dust. The hair trunks and the broken bureau gave up no guest, nor did the deep shelves reveal anything suspicious.
All this while a hand had been plucking at Joscelyn’s skirt, but Tarleton had kept his side face to her so that any action was impossible. Now, however, he called sharply to his aide to place the candle on the floor and help him search the big chest, remarking in a low tone that “Caskets like that sometimes held living jewels.”
Joscelyn laughed. “Then will it be in the shape of mice, of which capture I wish you joy. A rat hunt is noble sport for one of his Majesty’s gallant officers!”
As she intended it should, this speech but spurred Tarleton on to greater exertions. They would soon be coming back to the door, and she dared not risk the closing of it with what she knew was behind. But there was not much time left for action; for, obeying orders, the aide placed the candle on the floor, and opening the lid of the chest began overhauling the contents; his chief’s back was also toward the door. Now, if at all, was the moment for action. Joscelyn’s hand had been on the yarn ball in her pocket; quick as a flash it was out and the thread snapped apart. The floor slanted straight from her to the candle. With a deft cast she sent the noiseless ball down the room; it struck the narrow-bottomed candlestick, which careened and rocked over—and the next moment the room was in total darkness.
A cry broke from her and Tarleton simultaneously; his was an oath upon the orderly, hers a nervous relaxation of the strain that had been upon her.