Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
Tiptoeing lightly, he gained the farther room that she had indicated; and she moved as lightly behind him, almost without a sound. And, then, in silence, she drew him by the hand to the rear wall, where she pushed aside some rotting draperies and disclosed the door that he had sought and, even in this very room, had missed.
In deference to her silent command, he stepped boldly down into darkness, upon a winding staircase of wrought iron; as he descended, he heard her shut the door behind them and shoot home a bolt.
Below, still mutely, she guided him through total darkness to a second door; it likewise was bolted, and the bolts had rusted into a firm resistance.
But O'Rourke's strong fingers forced them back; he found a latch, lifted it, and the door swung open, the blessed moonlight flooding the little entry.
O'Rourke drank in the good, clean air in great gulps. For the first time, the woman spoke.
"It is a secret entry," she said. "The door above is bolted, and there is no door upon this floor. You are safe to rest yourself for a moment, O mon colonel; but do not endanger yourself further by lingering."
Her tone was cold, her words seemed forced and stilted. And she stood in shadow, where he might not see her.
"I go," he responded softly, "in one moment. I have something to say, mam'selle."
"Say it," she said brusquely, "and go, monsieur—go!"
"Very well. I'm returning to Shepheard's. To-morrow I shall stay in me room, armed, all the day. I shall eat nothing that me body-servant does not himself prepare."
There was a pause while he hesitated.
"That were wise," the woman approved listlessly.
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