CHAPTER X.
MIDNIGHT ALARMS.
Bonne's first thought when her brother darted to the stranger's rescuewas to seek aid from Ampoule, who, it will be remembered, sat drinkingbeside the fire in the outer hall. But the man's coarse address, andthe nature of his employment at the moment, checked the impulse; andthe girl returned to the window, and, flattening her face against thepanes, sought to learn what fortune her brother had. The fire, stillburning high, cast its light as far as the gateway. But the tower towhich Roger had hastened, being in a line with the window, was notvisible, and though Bonne pressed her face as closely as possibleagainst the panes, she could discover nothing. Yet her brother did notcome back. The murmur of jeers and laughter persisted, but he did notappear.
She turned at last, impelled to seek aid from some one. But at sightof the room, womanish panic took her by the throat, and the hystericalfit almost overcame her. For what help, what hope of help, lay in anyof those whom she saw round her? The Countess indeed had crept to herside, and cast her arm about her, but she was a child, and ashakealready. For the others, the Vicomte sat sunk in lethargy, heeding noone, ignorant apparently that his son had left the room; and Fulbert,whose wits had exhausted themselves in the effort that had saved hismistress, stood faithful indeed, but brainless, dull, dumb. OnlySolomon, who leant against the wall beside the door, his old facegloomy, his eyebrows knit, only to him could she look for a spark ofcomfort or suggestion. He, it was clear, appreciated the crisis, forhe was listening intently, his head inclined, his hand on a weapon.But he was old, and there was not a man of Vlaye's troopers who wasnot more than a match for him foot to foot.
Still, he was her only hope, if her brother did not return. And sheturned again to the casement, and, scarcely breathing, listened with akeenness of anxiety almost indescribable. If only Roger would return!Roger, who had seemed so weak a prop a few minutes before, and who,now that she had lost him, seemed everything! But the voices ofAmpoule and his companion disputing in the outer hall rose louder,drowning more distant sounds; and the minutes were passing. And stillRoger did not return.
Then a thought came to her; or rather two thoughts. The first was thatall now hung on her--and that steadied her. The second, that he whosegrasp had brought the blood to her cheeks that morning had bidden herhold out to the last, fight to the last, play the man to the last; andthis moved her to action. Better do anything than succumb like herfather. She flew to Solomon, dragging the Countess with her.
"We are not safe here," she said. "These men are drinking. They havekept Roger, and that bodes us no good. Were it not better to goupstairs to the Tower Room?"
"It were the best course," the old man answered slowly, with his eyeson the Vicomte. "Out and away the best course, mademoiselle. Fulbertand I could guard the stairs awhile at any rate."
"Then let us go!"
But he looked at the Vicomte. "If my lord says so," he answered. Allhis life the Vicomte's word had been his law.
In a moment she was at her father's side. "The Countess will be saferupstairs, sir," she said, speaking with a boldness that surprisedherself--but who could long remain in fear of the failing old manwhose leaden eyes met hers with scarce a gleam of meaning? "TheCountess is frightened here, sir," she continued. "If you would guardus upstairs----"
"Have done!" he struck at her with feeble passion, and waved her off."Let me alone."
"But----"
"Peace, girl, I say!" he repeated irascibly. "Who are you to fixcomings and goings? Get to your stool and your needle. God knows," ina burst of childish petulance, "what the world is coming to--whenchildren order their elders! But since--there, begone! Begone!"
She wrung her hands in despair. Outside, fuel was beginning to fail,the fire was burning low, the court growing dark. Within, the twoguttering candles showed only the Vicomte's figure sunk low in hischair, and here and there a pale face projected from the shadow. Butthe noise of riot and disorder did not slacken, rather it grew moremenacing; and what was she to do? Desperate, she returned to theattack.
"Sir," she said, "there is no one to escort the Countess ofRochechouart to her room. She wishes to retire, and it is late."
He got abruptly to his feet, and looked about him with something ofhis ordinary air. "Where is the Countess?" he asked peevishly. Andthen addressing Solomon, "Take candles! Take candles!" he continued."And you, sirrah, light the way! Don't you know your duty? TheCountess to her room! Mordieu, girl, we are fallen low indeed if wedon't know how to behave to our guests. Madame--or, to be sure,Mademoiselle la Comtesse," with a puzzled look at the shrinking child,"let me have the honour. Things are out of gear to-night, and we mustdo the best we can. But to-morrow--to-morrow all shall be in order."
He marshalled Solomon out and followed, bowing the young Countessbefore him. Bonne overjoyed went next; Fulbert, like a patient dog,brought up the rear. All was not done yet, however, as Bonne knew; andshe nerved herself for the effort. On the landing her father wouldhave stopped, but she passed him lightly and opened the door that ledby way of the roof, to the Tower Chamber. "This way!" she muttered toSolomon, as he hesitated. "The Countess is timid to-night, sir," shecontinued aloud, "and craves leave to lie in the Tower as the room isempty."
He frowned. "Still this silliness!" he exclaimed, and then passing hishand over his brow, "There was something said about it, I remember.But I thought I----"
"Gave permission, sir? Yes!" Bonne murmured, pushing the girl steadilyforward. "Solomon, do you hear? Light along the leads!"
Great as was his fear of the Vicomte, the old porter succumbed to herwill, and all were on the point of following, when a door on thelanding opened, and the Abbess appeared on the threshold of her room.She held a light above her head, and with a sneer on her handsomeface, contemplated the group.
"What is this?" she asked. And then, gathering their intention fromtheir looks--possibly she had had some inkling of it, "You do not meanto tell me," she continued, partly in temper, and partly in feignedsurprise, "that a half-dozen of roystering troopers, sir, are drivingthe Vicomte de Villeneuve from his own chamber? To take refuge amongthe owls and bats? For shame, sir, for shame!"
Bonne tried to stay her by a gesture.
In vain. "A fine tale they will have to tell to-morrow!" the eldersister continued in tones of savage raillery. "M. de Villeneuve afraidof a handful of rascals, whom their master keeps within bounds with astick! The Lord of Villeneuve bearded in his own house by a scum ofriders!"
"Peace, daughter!" the Vicomte cried; he even raised his hand inanger. "You lie! It is not I"--his head trembling--"I indeed, but theCountess! You don't see her. The Countess of Rochechouart----"
"Oh!" said the Abbess. And, the light she held shining on her arrogantbeauty, she swept a great curtsy, as if she had not seen her intendedguest before; as if her scornful eyes had not from the first descriedthe girl; as if the small beginnings of hate, hate that scarcely knewitself, were not already in her breast. "Oh," she said again, "it isthe Countess of Rochechouart, is it, who is afraid?"
"And with reason," Bonne answered, intervening hurriedly, but in a lowvoice. "The men are drinking and growing violent. Roger went to themsome time ago, and has not come back."
"Roger!" the Abbess ejaculated, shrugging her shoulders. "Did youthink that he could do anything?"
But she who of all those present seemed least likely to interferespoke up at that. Whether the young Countess resented--Heaven knowswhy she should--the sneer at Roger's expense, or only the contempt ofherself which the Abbess's manner expressed, she plucked up a spirit.After all she was not only a Rochechouart, but she was a woman; andthere is in all women, even the meekest, a spark of temper that, beingfanned by one of their own sex, blazes up. "It is true," she repliedcoldly, her face faintly pink. "It is I who am afraid, mademoiselle.But it is not of the men downstairs. It is their master whom I fear."
"You fear M. de Vlaye?" the Abbess repeated. And she laughed
aloud, alittle over merrily, at the absurdity of the notion. "You--fear M. deVlaye? Why? If I may venture to ask?"
"Why?" the Countess replied. She had learned somewhat during the day,and was too young to hide her knowledge, being provoked. "Do you askwhy, mademoiselle? Because, to be plain, I fear that which it may beyou do not fear."
The Abbess flushed crimson to her very throat. "And what, to be plain,do you mean by that?" she retorted in a tone that shook with passion."If you think that this story is true that they tell----"
"That M. de Vlaye waylaid and would have seized me?" the littleCountess retorted undismayed. "It is quite true."
"You say that!" The young Abbess was pale and red by turns. "How doyou know? What do you know?"
"I know the Captain of Vlaye," the girl answered firmly. "I have seenhim more than once at Angouleme, His mask fell yesterday, and I couldnot be mistaken. It was he!"
The Abbess bit her lip until the blood came in the vain attempt tomask feelings which her temper rendered her impotent to control. Sheno longer doubted the story. She saw that it was true; and jealousy,rage, and amazement--amazement at Vlaye's treachery, amazementat the discovery of a rival in one so insignificant in all saverank--deprived her of the power of speech. Fortunately at this momentthe clash of steel reached Solomon's ears, and, startled, the portergave the alarm.
"My lord, they are fighting!" he cried. And then emboldened by theemergency, "Were it not well," he continued, "to put the ladies in aplace of safety?"
The Vicomte, urged up the steps by the women, leant over the parapet,and learned the truth for himself. Bonne, the Countess, the Abbess andher women, all followed, and in a twinkling were standing on the roofin the dark night, the round tower rising beside them, and thecroaking of the frogs coming up to them from below.
But the brief clash of weapons was over, and they could make out nomore than a group of figures gathered about two prostrate men. Themovement of the lights, now here now there, augmented the difficultyof seeing, and for a while Bonne's heart stood still. She made nolamentations, for she came of the old blood, but she thought Rogerdead. And then a man raised a light, and she distinguished his figureleaning over one of the injured men.
"Thank God!" she murmured. "There is Roger. He is not hurt!"
"Who are they? Who are they?" the Vicomte babbled, clinging to theparapet. "Eh? Who are they? Cannot any one see?"
But no one could see, and the Abbess's women began to cry. She paid noheed to them. She leant with the others over the parapet, and shelistened with them to the shuffling feet of the men below, as slowlyin a double line they bore the cloaked form towards the house. Butwhether their thoughts were her thoughts, their anxiety her anxiety,whether she was wrapt, as they were, in the scene that passed below,or chewed instead the cud of other and more bitter reflections, wasknown only to herself. Her proud spirit, whose worst failings hithertohad not gone beyond selfishness and vanity, hung, it may be, duringthose moments between good and evil, the better and the worse; took,perhaps, the turn that must decide its life; flung from it, perhaps,in passionate abandonment the last heart-strings that bound it to thepurer and more generous affections.
Perhaps; but none of those who stood beside her had an inkling of hermood. For the troopers had passed with their mysterious burden intothe house, and no sooner were they gone than one of the Abbess's womencried in a panic that they would be murdered, and in a trice all,succumbing to the impulse, made for the Tower Chamber, and herded intoit pell-mell, some shrugging their shoulders and showing that theygave way to the more timid, and the men not knowing from whom to takeorders. In the chamber were already two or three of the house-women,who had sought that refuge earlier in the evening, and these, seeingthe Vicomte, looked for nothing but slaughter, and by their shrilllamentations added to the confusion.
The security of all depended entirely on their holding the way acrossthe leads, and here the men should have remained; but the women wouldnot part with them and all entered together. Some one locked the outerdoor, and there they were, in all eleven or twelve persons, in thegreat, dreary chamber, where a few feeble candles that served to makedarkness visible disclosed their blanched faces. At the slightestsound the women shrieked or clung to one another, and with everysecond the boldest expected to hear the tramp of feet without, and theclatter of weapons on the oak.
There was something ridiculous in this noisy panic; yet somethingterrifying also to those who, like Bonne, kept their heads. She strovein vain to make herself heard; her voice was drowned; the disorderoverwhelmed her as a flood overwhelms a strong swimmer. She seized agirl by the arm to silence her: the wench took it for a fresh alarmand squalled the louder. She flew to her father and begged him tointerpose; flurried, he fell into a rage with her, and stormed at heras if it were she who caused the confusion. For the others the youngCountess, though quiet, was scared; and Odette, seated at a distance,noticed her companions only at intervals in the dark current of herthoughts--and then with a look of disdain.
At length Bonne betook herself to Solomon. "Some one should hold theroof!" she said.
He shrugged his shoulders. "Ay, ay, mademoiselle," he said, "but wehave no orders and the door is locked, and he has the key."
"You could do something there?"
"Ay, if we had orders."
She flew to the Vicomte at that. "Some one should be holding the roof,sir," she said. "Solomon and Fulbert could maintain it awhile. Couldyou not give them orders?"
He swore at her. "We are mad to be here," he exclaimed, veering abouton an instant. "This comes of letting women have a voice! Silence, youhell-babes!" he continued, turning with his staff raised upon two ofthe women, who had chosen that moment to raise a new outcry. "We areall mad! Mad, I say!"
"I will silence them, sir," she answered. And stepping on a bed,"Listen! Listen to me!" she cried stoutly. "We are in little dangerhere if we are quiet. Therefore let us make no noise. They will notthen know where to find us. And let the men go to the door, and themaids to the other end of the room. And----"
Shrieks stopped her. The two whom the Vicomte had upbraided flungthemselves screaming on Solomon. "The window! The window!" they cried,glaring over their shoulders. And before the astonished old man couldfree himself, or the Vicomte give vent to his passion, "The window!They are coming in!" they shrieked.
The words were the signal for a wild rush towards the door. Two orthree of the candles were knocked down, the Vicomte was well-nighcarried off his legs, the Abbess, who tried to rise, was pinned whereshe was by her women; who flung themselves on their knees before herand hid their faces in her robe. Only Bonne, interrupted in the midstof her appeal, retained both her presence of mind and her freedom ofaction. After obeying the generous instinct which bade her thrust theyoung Countess behind her, she remained motionless, staring intentlyat the window--staring in a mixture of hope and fear.
The hope was justified. They were the faces of friends that showed inthe dark opening of the window. They were friends who entered--Charlesfirst, that the alarm might be the sooner quelled, des Ageaux second;if first and second they could be called, when the feet of the twotouched the floor almost at the same instant. But Charles wore a newand radiant face, and des Ageaux a look of command, that to Bonneafter what she had gone through was as wine to a fainting man. Therewere some whom that look did not reach, but even these--women withtheir faces hidden--stilled their cries, and raised their headswhen he spoke. For a trumpet could not have rung more firm in thatpanic-laden air.
"We are friends!" he said. "And we are in time! M. le Vicomte, we mustact and ask your leave afterwards." Turning again to the window hespoke to the night.
Not in vain. At the word troopers came tumbling in man after man; theforemost, a lean, lank-visaged veteran, who looked neither to rightnor left, but in three strides, and with one salute in the Vicomte'sdirection, put himself at the door and on guard. He had a long,odd-looking sword with a steel basket hilt, with which he signed tothe men to stand here or there.<
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For they continued to come in, until the Vicomte, stunned by the sightof his son, awoke to fresh wonder; and, speechless, counted a rounddozen and three to boot, besides his guest and Charles. Moreover theywere men of a certain stamp, quiet but grim, who, being bidden, didand asked no questions.
When they had all filed through the group of staring women now fallensilent, and had ranged themselves beside the Bat--for he it was--atthe door, des Ageaux spoke.
"Do you hear them?"
"No, my lord."
"Unlock softly, then, but do not open! And wait the word! M. leVicomte"--he turned courteously to the old man--"the occasion presses,or I would ask your pardon. Mademoiselle"--but as he turned to Bonnehe lowered his voice, and what he said escaped other ears. Not herears, for from brow to neck, though he had but praised her courage andfirmness, she blushed vividly.
"I did only what I could," she replied, lifting her eyes once to hisand as quickly dropping them. "Roger----"
"Ha! What of Roger?"
She told him as concisely as she could.
He knit his brows. "That was not of my contrivance," he said. Andthen with a gleam of humour in his eyes, "Masked was he? Anotherknight-errant, it seems, and less fortunate than the first! You do notlack supporters in your misfortunes, mademoiselle. But--what is it?"
"They come, my lord," the Bat answered, raising his hand to gainattention.
All, at the word, listened with quickened pulses, and in the silencethe harsh rending of wood came to the ear, a little dulled bydistance. Then a murmur of voices, then another crash! The men aboutthe door poised themselves, each with a foot advanced, and his weaponready; their strained muscles and gleaming eyes told of theirexcitement. A moment and they would be let loose! A moment--and then,too late, Bonne saw Charles beside the Bat.
Too late; but it mattered nothing. She might have spoken, but he,panting for the fight, exulting in the occasion, would not have heededif an angel had spoken. And before she could find words, the thing wasdone. The Bat flung the door open, and with a roar of defiance the mobof men charged out and across the roof, Charles among the foremost.
A shot, a scream, a tumult of cries, the jarring of steel on steel,and the fight rolled down through the house in a whirl of stridentvoices. The candles, long-wicked and guttering, flamed wildly in thewind; the room was half in shadow, half in light. The Vicomte, who hadseen all in a maze of stupefaction, stiffened himself--as the oldwar-horse that scents the battle. Bonne hid her face and prayed.
Not so the Abbess. She sat unmoved, a sneer on her face, a darklook in her eyes. And so Bonne, glancing up, saw her; and a strangepang shot through the younger girl's breast. If he had praised hercourage--and that with a look and in a tone that had brought the bloodto her cheeks--what would he think of her handsome sister? How couldhe fail to admire her, not for her beauty only, but for her statelypride, for the composure that not even this could alter, for thechallenge that shone in her haughty eyes?
The next moment Bonne reproached herself for entertaining such athought, while Charles's life and perhaps Roger's hung in the balance,and the cries of men in direst straits still rung in her ears. What aworm she was, what a crawling thing! God pardon her! God protect them!
The Abbess's voice--she had risen at last and moved--cut short hersupplications. "Who is he?" Odette de Villeneuve muttered in a fiercewhisper. "Who is he, girl?" She pointed to des Ageaux, who kept hisstation on the threshold, his ear following the course of the fight."Who is that man? They call him my lord! Who is he?"
"I do not know," Bonne said.
"You do not know?"
"No."
The candles flared higher. The Lieutenant turned and saw the twosisters standing together looking at him.
He crossed the room to them, halting midway to listen, his attentiondivided between them and the conflict below. His eyes dwelt awhile onthe Abbess, but settled, as he drew nearer, on Bonne. He desired toreassure her. "Have no fear, mademoiselle," he said quietly. "Yourbrother runs little risk. They were taken by surprise. By this time itis over."
The Vicomte heard and his lips trembled, but no words came. It was theAbbess who spoke for him. "And what next?" she asked harshly.
Des Ageaux, still lending an ear to the sounds below, looked at herwith attention, but did not answer.
"What next?" she repeated. "You have entered forcibly. By what right?"
"The right, mademoiselle," he replied, "that every man has to resist awrong. The right that every man has to protect women, and to save hisfriends. If you desire more than this," he continued, with a change oftone that answered the challenge of her eyes, "in the King's name,mademoiselle, and my own!"
"And you are?"
"His Majesty's Lieutenant in Perigord," he answered, bowing. Hisattention was fixed on her, yet he was vividly conscious of the colourthat mounted suddenly to Bonne's cheeks, dyed her brows, shone in hereyes.
"Of Perigord?" the Abbess repeated in astonishment.
"Of Perigord," he replied, bowing again. "It is true," he continued,shrugging his shoulders, "that I am a league or two beyond my border,but great wrongs beget little ones, mademoiselle."
She hated him. As he stood there successful, she hated him. But shehad not found an answer, nor had Bonne stilled the fluttering, halfpainful, half pleasant, of her heart, when the tread of returning feetheralded news. The Bat and two others entered, bearing a lanthorn thatlit up their damp swarthy faces. The first was Roger.
He was wildly excited. "Great news!" he cried, waving his hand. "Greatnews! I have downstairs----"
One look from des Ageaux's eyes silenced him. Des Ageaux looked fromhim to the Bat. "What have you done?" he asked curtly.
"Taken two unwounded, three wounded," the tall man answered asbriefly. "The others escaped."
"Their horses?"
"We have their horses."
Des Ageaux paused an instant. Then, "You have closed the gates?"
"And set a guard, my lord!" the Bat answered. "We have no wounded,but----"
"The Duke of Joyeuse lies below, and is wounded!" Roger cried in abreath. He could restrain himself no longer.
If his object was to shatter des Ageaux's indifference, he succeededto a marvel. "The Duke of Joyeuse?" the Lieutenant exclaimed instupefaction. "Impossible!"
"But no!" Roger retorted. "He is lying below--wounded. It is notimpossible!"
"But he was not--of those?" des Ageaux returned, indicating by agesture the men whom they had just expelled. For an instant the notionthat he had attacked and routed friends instead of foes darkened hisface.
"No!" Roger explained fluently--excitement had rid him of hisdiffidence. "No! He was the man who rode into the courtyard--but youhave not heard? They were going to maltreat him, and he killed theirleader, Ampoule--that was before you came!" Roger's eyes shone; it wasevident that he had transferred his allegiance.
Des Ageaux's look sought the Bat and asked a question. "There is adead man below," the Bat answered. "He had it through the throat."
"And the Duke of Joyeuse?"
"He is there--alone apparently."
"Alone?"
The Bat's eyes sought the wall and gazed on it stonily. "There aremore fools than one in the world," he said gruffly.
Des Ageaux pondered an instant. Then, "I will see him," he said. "Butfirst," he turned courteously to the Vicomte, "I have to provide foryour safety, M. le Vicomte, and that of your family. I can only ensureit, I fear, by removing you from here. I have not sufficient force tohold the chateau, and short of that I see no way of protecting youfrom the Captain of Vlaye's resentment."
The Vicomte, who had aged years in the last few days, as the oldsometimes do, sat down weakly on a bed. "Go--from here?" he muttered,his hands moving nervously on his knees. "From my house?"
"It is necessary."
"Why?" A younger and stronger voice flung the question at des Ageaux.The Abbess stood forward beside her father. "Why?" she repeatedimperiously. "Why should we go from here--fro
m our own house? Or whyshould we fear M. de Vlaye?"
"To the latter question--because he does not lightly forgive,mademoiselle," des Ageaux replied drily. "To the former because I haveneither men nor means to defend this house. To both, because you havewith you"--he pointed to the Countess--"this lady, whom it is notconsonant with the Vicomte's honour either to abandon or to surrender.To be plain, M. de Vlaye's plans have been thwarted and his menrouted, and to-morrow's sun will not be an hour high before he takesthe road. To remain here were to abide the utmost of his power;which," he added drily, "is at present of importance, however it maystand in a week's time."
She looked at him darkly beautiful, temper and high disdain in herface. And as she looked there began to take shape in her mind the wishto destroy him; a wish that even as she looked, in a space of time tooshort to be measured by our clumsy methods, became a fixed thought.Why had he intervened? Who had invited him to intervene? With awoman's inconsistency she left out of sight the wrong M. de Vlayewould have done her, she forgot the child-Countess, she overlooked allexcept that this man was the enemy of the man she loved. She felt thatbut for him all would have been well! But for him--for even that shelaid at his door--and his hostility the Captain of Vlaye had neverbeen driven to think of that other way of securing his fortunes.
These thoughts passed through her mind in a pause so short that thelisteners scarcely marked it for a pause. Then, "And if we will notgo?" she cried.
"All in the house will go," he replied.
"Whither?"
"I shall decide that," he answered coldly. And he turned from her.Before she could retort he was giving orders, and men were coming andgoing and calling to one another, and lights were flitting in alldirections through the house, and all about her was hubbub and stirand confusion. She saw that resistance was vain. Her father waspassive, her brothers were des Ageaux's most eager ministrants. Theservants were awed into silence, or, like old Solomon, who for oncewas mute on the glories of the race, were anxious to escape for theirown sakes.
Then into her hatred of him entered a little of that leaven of fearwhich makes hatred active. For amid the confusion he was cool. Hisvoice was firm, his eye commanded on this side, his hand beckoned onthat, men ran for him. She knew the dread in which M. de Vlaye washeld. But this she saw was not the awe in which men hold him whosecaprice it may be to punish, but the awe in which men stand of him whois just; whose nature it is out of chaos to create order, and who tothat end will spend himself and all. A man cold of face and somethingpassionless; even hard, we have seen, when a rope, a bough, and avillain forced themselves on his attention.
She would not have known him had she seen him leaning over Joyeuse afew minutes later, while his lean subaltern held a shaded taper on theother side of the makeshift pallet. The door was locked on them, theyhad the room to themselves, and between them the Duke lay in the deadsleep of exhaustion. "I do not think that we can move him," des Ageauxmuttered, his brow clouded by care.
The Bat, with the light touch of one who had handled many a dying man,felt the Duke's pulse, without rousing him. "He will bear it," hesaid, "in a litter."
"Over that road? Think what a road it is!"
"Needs must!"
"He brought the money, found me gone, and followed," des Ageauxmurmured in a voice softening by feeling. "You think we dare takehim?"
"To leave him to the Captain of Vlaye were worse."
"Worse for us," des Ageaux muttered doubtfully. "That is true."
"Worse for all," the Bat grunted. He took liberties in private thatfor all the world he would not have had suspected.
Still his master, who had been so firm above-stairs, hung undecidedover the sick man's couch. "M. de Vlaye would not be so foolish as toharm him," he said.
"He would only pluck him!" the Bat retorted. "And wing us with thefirst feather, the Lady Countess with the second, the Crocans with thethird, and the King with the fourth." He stopped. It was a long speechfor him.
Des Ageaux assented. "Yes, he is the master-card," he said slowly. "Isuppose we must take him. But Heavens knows how we shall get himthere."
"Leave that to me!" said the Bat, undertaking more than he knew. Nordid he guess with whose assistance he was to perform the task.
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