Armitage wrestled vigorously with the jacket, which refused to accommodate itself to his broad shoulders. Happily it was not needful to fasten it, and he pulled on the cap, and announced himself as ready.
“I thought I would lock the door, and slip back and hang up the key again in its place,” said Danaë, pulling at it.
“Allow me,” said Armitage, and their hands met on the great rusty key as they both tugged at the door. As they pulled, he felt Danaë’s hands grow suddenly cold beneath his.
“Some one is coming! They have found out!” she gasped.
A distant light was glimmering round the turn of the passage by which she had come. There was no time to be lost. Armitage tore off the kilt and jacket and hurried into his own coat, flung the clothes into the cell, and dragged Danaë behind the door.
“I will go forward and meet them, and you must try to slip past when they are talking to me,” he said. “Don’t get locked up here, in any case. I’ll get you through if I can, but if not you must trust to me to do the best for you. Do you understand? Promise.”
“I promise,” she whispered, and crouched behind the door, at the foot of the slope, while Armitage went forward to the turn of the passage, calculating possibilities. There were three or four people coming down the steps, so that a general scrimmage, in which they would all join to thrust him back into the dungeon, would offer the best chance for Danaë to slip out from her hiding-place and run up the stairs. But they paused upon the steps and looked at him, the reproachful face of Kyrios Parthenios peering over Prince Christodoridi’s shoulder, and Angeliké’s wide eyes glaring above him.
“Who let you out, Milordo?” demanded Prince Christodoridi.
Armitage laughed. “If you are kind enough to leave my door open, friend Despot, you can hardly wonder if I walk out.”
“Who brought you the key, lord?” asked Kyrios Loukas curiously.