Even as his hand left the cover, and he was about to step back, Sir Nicholas made his spring, a clean, lithe spring, noiseless and sure. Before the soldier realized what had happened a pair of iron hands were choking him into insensibility, and he was half-flung, half-lifted backwards on to the bed behind him. Sir Nicholas’ knee was over his dagger; he could not reach it. He could make no sound; he could only tear fruitlessly at the merciless fingers that were grasping his throat. His eyes started horribly, glaring up into Sir Nicholas’ face: the last thing he was conscious of was the brightness of the blue eyes above him and the grim smile that curled Sir Nicholas’ lips.
Sir Nicholas’ hands left the bruised throat; he stepped to the table, caught up the napkin laid ready there, and tied it expeditiously round the unconscious man’s mouth. The dagger was drawn from its sheath, the key picked up from the floor where it had fallen. Holding the dagger in his right hand, Sir Nicholas went with a firm tread to the door, fitted the key in the lock, turned it, and opened the door.
Outside the sentry stood, leaning on his halberd. Some instinct must have warned him of danger, for even as the door opened he turned his head sharply to see who came. He had only time to let out a startled cry, but that second’s mischance brought an oath to Beauvallet’s lips. The dagger went home between neck and shoulder, and the sentry seemed to crumple up where he stood.
But the one cry, shrill as it was, was like to ruin all. An answering shout sounded, and from the main stairway a man came running.
Sir Nicholas wrenched the dagger free, and was gone in a flash towards the south side of the building. His intention had been to get round on this side to the Governor’s quarters, but now, with the alarm given, and men running to the pursuit, this was clearly impossible. He bounded up the spiral stairway at the junction of the corridors, and found himself in a similar passage to the one below, except that it was walled in, with embrasured windows over which hung heavy curtains, giving on to the court below. A cresset hung at the top of the stairs, and threw a feeble light; there was another in the middle of the corridor to his left.
Below there was the sound of running feet, shouts, and the clatter of pikes. Sir Nicholas sent a quick look round, and his eye alighted on a stout oak chest standing against the wall. He stepped quickly forward; there was a heave and a thrust, and the chest went crashing down the stair on top of the foremost man who was running up. The chest jammed tight on the turn of the stair; there was a furious oath, clatter, and confusion. The first of the pursuers went tumbling backwards into the arms of the man behind him, who, in his turn, lost his balance under the sudden impact and fell heavily.
Sir Nicholas laughed out at that, and having seen his chest securely wedged, turned. He had not the least idea what he was going to do next, and he rather thought that he was trapped, but his eyes were fairly blazing with sheer joy of action, and a smile of amusement was on his lips.
Footsteps and voices sounded on the main stair at the other end of the quadrangle. Sir Nicholas stayed, poised on his toes, waiting to see which way these pursuers would come. They rounded the far corner of the eastern corridor, where he stood, some three or four soldiers running with halberds levelled. Sir Nicholas sprang to the left, and was off down the southern passage, making for the Governor’s quarters on the western side.
He had almost reached the corner when he checked suddenly, and cast a quick glance round him for some way of escape. Ahead of him, down the western corridor, perilously close, was coming the thud of heavy feet, running fast. He was indeed trapped.
Another moment and the men behind him would have rounded the corner, and would have him in view again. Sir Nicholas made for the end window on this side, slipped into the embrasure, and drew the heavy curtains to behind him.
The window opened on to its little railed balcony; Sir Nicholas stepped out, soft-footed, and cast a glance down into the court below. It was too dark to distinguish forms, but he could hear voices, and knew that there were soldiers gathered there.
He thrust the dagger through his belt, tested the iron railing a moment with his hand, and peered through the gloom for the first balcony on the western side. He could just distinguish it. One moment he measured the distance; then he set his foot on the railing and came lightly up with a hand on the wall to steady himself. Judging by the sounds, the men running down the western corridor had now reached the corner. Sir Nicholas gathered himself together, and jumped like a diver, head first for the next balcony. His hands just caught its railing; he hung there a moment, panting, put forth a great effort, and hoisted himself up. He had a leg over the rail in a minute, and the next instant he had disappeared in at the window.
He found himself in a deserted passage. Down the corner along which he had come were pelting the soldiers; in another moment they would collide with the other party whom Sir Nicholas had first seen. There would be more talk of witchcraft after this night’s work, thought Sir Nicholas, and grinned appreciatively. Each of those converging parties were convinced they had the escaped prisoner trapped; they were very shortly to discover that El Beauvallet had once more lived up to his reputation, and this time had vanished, to all appearances, into thin air. El Beauvallet
