Hark, from the next room a cry, a fall! Well, were it Lucas's victory,
he might kill me as well as another. I walked into the back room. But it
was Lucas who lay prone.
"Come, come!" I cried, clutching monsieur's wrist. But he would not till
with Lucas's own misericorde he had given him coup de grâce.
Crash! Crash! The upper panel shivered in twain. A great splinter six
inches wide, hanging from the top, blocked the opening. A hand came
through to wrench it away.
M. Étienne, across the room at a leap, drove his knife through the hand,
nailing it to the wood. On the instant he recognized its owner.
"Good morning, Peyrot. We've recovered the packet."
Not waiting for further amenities, I seized my lord and dashed him into
the front room, only a faint hope to lead me, but the oaths of the
bravos a good spur. And, St. Quentin be thanked, there in the garret
window were Jacques and his tapsters, pushing a ladder to us.
"Go, monsieur! There are four behind us. Go!"
"You first!"
But I, who had snatched up his sword as he stabbed Lucas, ran back to
guard the door. He had the sense to see there was no good arguing.
Crying, "Quick after me, Félix!" he crawled out on the ladder.
Peyrot was released. Another blow from the ram, and the door fell to
finders. They leaped in over the table like a freshet over a dam. I
darted to the window. M. Étienne was in the garret, helping hold the
ladder for me. I flung myself upon it all too eagerly. Like a lath it
snapped.