“Ah, you see that plan was not sure enough; he might go out by one gate and return by another.”
“Where is he, then?”
“In the cellar.”
“The cellar—what cellar?”
“Our landlord’s, to be sure. Mousqueton is propped against the door and here’s the key.”
“Bravo!” said Aramis, “how did you manage it?”
“Like everything else, with money; but it cost me dear.”
“How much?” asked Athos.
“Five hundred pounds.”
“And where did you get so much money?” said Athos. “Had you, then, that sum?”
“The queen’s famous diamond,” answered d’Artagnan, with a sigh.
“Ah, true,” said Aramis. “I recognized it on your finger.”
“You bought it back, then, from Monsieur des Essarts?” asked Porthos.
“Yes, but it was fated that I should not keep it.”
“So, then, we are all right as regards the executioner,” said Athos; “but unfortunately every executioner has his assistant, his man, or whatever you call him.”
“And this one had his,” said d’Artagnan; “but, as good luck would have it, just as I thought I should have two affairs to manage, our friend was brought home with a broken leg. In the excess of his zeal he had accompanied the cart containing the scaffolding as far as the king’s window, and one of the crossbeams fell on his leg and broke it.”
“Ah!” cried Aramis, “that accounts for the cry I heard.”
“Probably,” said d’Artagnan, “but as he is a thoughtful young man he promised to send four expert workmen in his place to help those already at the scaffold, and wrote the moment he was brought home to Master Tom Lowe, an assistant carpenter and friend of his, to go down to Whitehall, with three of his friends. Here’s the letter he sent by a messenger, for sixpence, who sold it to me for a guinea.”
“And what on earth are you going to do with it?” asked Athos.
“Can’t you guess, my dear Athos? You, who speak English like John Bull himself, are Master Tom Lowe, we, your three companions. Do you understand it now?”
Athos uttered a cry of joy and admiration, ran to a closet and drew forth workmen’s clothes, which the four friends immediately put on; they then left the hotel, Athos carrying a saw, Porthos a vise, Aramis an axe and d’Artagnan a hammer and some nails.
The letter from the executioner’s assistant satisfied the master carpenter that those were the men he expected.
LXV
The Workmen
Toward midnight Charles heard a great noise beneath his window. It arose from blows of hammer and hatchet, clinking of pincers and cranching of saws.
Lying dressed upon his bed, the noise awoke him with a start and found a gloomy echo in his heart. He could not endure it, and sent Parry to ask the sentinel to beg the workmen to strike more gently and not disturb the last slumber of one who had been their king. The sentinel was unwilling to leave his post, but allowed Parry to pass.
Arriving at the window Parry found an unfinished scaffold, over which they were nailing a covering of black serge. Raised to the height of twenty feet, so as to be on a level with the window, it had two lower stories. Parry, odious as was this sight to him, sought for those among some eight or ten workmen who were making the most noise; and fixed on two men, who were loosening the last hooks of the iron balcony.
“My friends,” said Parry, mounting the scaffold and standing beside them, “would you work a little more quietly? The king wishes to get a sleep.”
One of the two, who was standing up, was of gigantic size and was driving a pick with all his might into the wall, whilst the other, kneeling beside him, was collecting the pieces of stone. The face of the first was lost to Parry in the darkness; but as the second turned around and placed his finger on his lips Parry started back in amazement.
“Very well, very well,” said the workman aloud, in excellent English. “Tell the king that if he sleeps badly tonight he will sleep better tomorrow night.”
These blunt words, so terrible if taken literally, were received by the other workmen with a roar of laughter. But Parry withdrew, thinking he was dreaming.
Charles was impatiently awaiting his return. At the moment he re-entered, the sentinel who guarded the door put his head through the opening, curious as to what the king was doing. The king was lying on his bed, resting on his elbow. Parry closed the door and approaching the king, his face radiant with joy:
“Sire,” he said, in a low voice, “do you know who these workmen are who are making so much noise?”
“I? No; how would you have me know?”
Parry bent his head and whispered to the king: “It is the Comte de la Fère and his friends.”
“Raising my scaffold!” cried the king, astounded.
“Yes, and at the same time making a hole in the wall.”
The king clasped his hands and raised his eyes to Heaven; then leaping down from his bed he went to the window, and pulling aside the curtain tried to distinguish the figures outside, but in vain.
Parry was not wrong. It was Athos he had recognized, and Porthos who was boring a hole through the wall.
This hole communicated with a kind of loft—the space between the floor of the king’s room and the ceiling of the one below it. Their plan was to pass through the hole they were making into this loft and cut out from below a piece of the flooring of the king’s room, so as to form a kind of trap-door.
Through this the king was to escape the next night, and, hidden by the black covering of the scaffold, was to change his dress for that of a workman, slip out with his deliverers, pass the sentinels, who would suspect nothing, and so reach the skiff that was waiting for him at Greenwich.
Day gilded the tops of the houses. The aperture was finished and Athos passed through it, carrying the clothes destined for the
