_Vigo._
I knew of old that it was easier to catch a weasel asleep than Vigo
absent where he was needed; yet I did not expect to meet him in the
alley. Monsieur, then, had changed his mind.
"Well caught!" cried Vigo, winding his arms round Lucas, who was
struggling furiously for liberty. "Here, Maurice, Jules, I have number
one. Ah, you young sinner! with your crew again? I thought as much. Tie
the knots hard, boys. Better be quiet, you snake; you can't get away."
Lucas seemed to make up his mind to this, for he quieted down directly.
"So the game is up," he said pleasantly. "I had hoped to be gone before
you arrived, dear Vigo."
We had both been deprived promptly of our swords and Lucas's wrists were
roped together, but my only bond was Vigo's hand on my arm.
"Where are the others?" he demanded. "No tricks, now."
"Here," I said, and led the way down the passage. Maurice and Jules,
with their prisoner, pressed after us, and half a dozen of the duke's
guard after them. The rest stayed without to mind the horses and keep
off the gathering crowd.
One of the men had a torch which lighted the red pavement. Vigo saw this
first.
"Morbleu! is it a shambles?"
"That is wine," I said.
"They spilled wine for effect, they spilled so little blood!" Thus
Lucas, speaking with as cool devilry as if he still commanded the
situation. Vigo could not know what he meant but he asked no questions;
instead, bade Lucas hold his tongue.
"I am dumb," Lucas rejoined, with a mock meekness more insolent than
insolence. But we paid it no heed for M. le Comte came forward out of
the shadows. He held his head well up but his face was white above his
crimsoned doublet.
"M. Étienne! Are you hurt?" shouted Vigo.
"No, but he is." M. le Comte stepped aside to show us Grammont leaning
against the wall.
"Ah!" cried Vigo, triumphantly. He and two of the men rushed at Gervais.
"You would not take me so easily but for a cursed knife in my back,"
Grammont muttered thickly. "For the love of Heaven, Vigo, draw it out."
With amazement Vigo perceived the knife.
"Who did it?"
"I."
"You, Félix? In the back?" Vigo looked at me as if to demand again which
side I was on.
"He lay on me, throttling me," I explained. "I stabbed any way I
could."
"I trow you are a dead man," Vigo told Grammont. "Natheless, here comes
the knife."
It came, with a great cry from the victim. He fell back against Vigo's
man, clapping his hand to his side.
"I am done for," he gasped faintly.
"That is well," said Vigo, carefully wiping off the knife.
"Yon is the scoundrel," Grammont gasped, pointing to Lucas.
"He will die a worse death than you," said Vigo.
Grammont looked from the one to the other of us, the sullen rage in his
face fading to a puzzled helplessness. He said fretfully:
"Which--which is Étienne?"
He could no longer see us plain. M. le Comte came forward silently.
Grammont struggled for breath in a way pitiable to see. I put my arm
about him and helped the guardsman to hold him straighter. He reached
out his hand and caught at M. le Comte's sleeve.
"Étienne--Étienne--pardon. It was wrong toward you--but I never had the
pistoles. He called me thief--the duke. I beseech--your--pardon."