He turned to the shivering girls. “Come along,” he said, “let's get out of this while there is time.”
Rising unsteadily to their feet, and still clinging together, the girls moved towards the door.
“Follow me down closely,” said Westerham, and then he thrust the nozzle of his six-shooter against the negro's breast.
“Right about,” he said, “and down the stairs before me.”
Melun he ignored altogether, and the captain brought up the rear. In this wise they went down the stairs.
The hubbub, however, had attracted the attention of the men below, and two or three of them were now gathered together in the darkness of the passage, swearing angrily.
Westerham, who had taken the lantern from the negro, swung it aloft.
“Permit me to show you a light,” he cried.
They blinked as the lantern dazzled their eyes, but they did not blink so much that they failed to catch the glint of the weapon Westerham carried.
“You dog, Melun!” cried one of them, “is this your friend that is to help us all? If he goes on at this rate he will land us all in gaol.”