Robbins jumped at another conclusion, and, as it turned out, his hazard was the true one.
My escape had become known through some mischance—Heaven alone knows how; perhaps some fellow venturing below, with a little scheme of his own on tap, that concerned the wine bin of the mayor, had heard the agonizing groans of Cerberus, and, being more valiant than most of his kind, had investigated, with the result of discovery.
That was the most reasonable supposition.
However, men care little about cause when the effect is what they have to battle with.
And those cries told Robbins the enemy must speedily be at our door.
Already they swarmed up the stairs, and our escape in that quarter seemed cut off.
Hildegarde had turned very pale, but she was a brave little woman, and possessed an abiding faith in two men.
“We must run for it—this way, quick. There is one road out, only one.”
Robbins spoke even while in motion, for time when measured by heartbeats can not be wasted in long explanations.
My hand clutched her arm, and together we hurried in the wake of our big friend, the mate.