She heard the horses galloping away; then a moment later, she heard the door downstairs open and Chauvelin call out for the innkeeper. My God, she thought, he mustn’t come here now, he mustn’t! She managed to get to the door of her room and she opened it, ignoring Ffoulkes’s instructions. She was still feeling lightheaded, but the wine didn’t seem to be affecting her as much now. She closed her eyes and tried to fight off the dizziness. She could hear Chauvelin and Brogard talking downstairs, but she could not clearly make out what was being said. Opening the door all the way, she stepped outside into the hall and went to the top of the stairs. She looked down to the first floor and she could just see the table at which Chauvelin sat. His back was to her. Brogard was standing before him, she
could see the innkeeper from about the shoulders down.
“He was here, you say?” said Chauvelin. “When?”
She quickly backed away without waiting to hear Brogard’s reply. The window! It looked out onto the street. If either Ffoulkes or Percy came now, she could shout down to them and warn them of the trap. She went back to her room and stood by the open window, staring outside, up and down the street. She saw a number of other people enter the inn, but none of them was Ffoulkes or Percy. Could Percy be disguised? Ffoulkes had told her that he had become quite an actor, often resorting to elaborate disguises to effect his rescues. If he slipped into the inn in such a costume, perhaps he would not be recognized, but surely he would recognize Chauvelin and realize the danger. How long would it be before the soldiers returned to the Chat Gris?
A hand covered her mouth and another pinned her arms behind her back. She was pulled away from the window.
“Not a sound, Lady Blakeney, please.”
Whoever it was spoke to her in English, but he did not sound English. Too late, she realized that she had left her door open. She could not see who was holding her. She began to fight against her unknown assailant.
“Struggling is useless, Lady Blakeney. I’m much stronger than you are.”
She was forced face-down onto the bed. She tried to fight, but her attacker’s claim was no idle boast. He was immensely powerful. She tried kicking at him, but it was to no avail.
“Jean, hand me that rope, will you?”
She felt her hands being bound moments later. The man holding her had uncovered her mouth to do the job and she opened it to scream, but instead found a cloth being jammed into it. She was astonished to see that the person who had gagged her so expertly and now stood there grinning at her was a mere boy. In seconds, she was immobilized, her mouth gagged, her hands tied, and her feet and knees bound together. Suddenly, she remembered Percy’s ring. Working her fingers madly, she managed to move the top of the signet ring so that the tiny needle was exposed. Now if she only had a chance to-
“All right, Lady Blakeney, let’s see if we can’t sit you up and try to make you a bit more comfortable. At least, as comfortable as possible, under the circumstances.”
As she felt his hands on her, she gave a convulsive jerk and thrashed toward him, trying to swipe at him with her hands tied behind her back.
“What the… ow! Damn bitch scratched me. She…” The voice trailed off. Then her hands were seized and she felt the ring being wrenched off her finger.
For several moments, nothing happened. Then she heard a clearly audible sigh of relief.
“Christ, for a moment there, I thought I’d had it.”
She felt herself being turned over and she looked up at the face of her assailant. He was of medium height, not as tall as Percy, and he was dark-haired. He had the build of an athlete, he was clean-shaven, and he was good-looking in a menacing sort of way. He smiled and it was an amazingly charming smile. He held up the ring.
“You gave me quite a turn there,” Mongoose said. “It certainly would have been ironic if I’d had this thing turned against me. However, if he gave it to you, which I doubt, he did not show you how to load it. Fortunately for me, the cartridge has been spent.” He put the ring in his pocket. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? I suppose it’s just as well. Jean, get over by the window there and let me know if you see anybody coming.”
The boy complied.
“You needn’t stare at me so malevolently,” he told her. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to save his life.”
“Three men approaching,” Jean said from the other side of the room.
“It’s getting awful crowded down there, isn’t it?” said Mongoose.
“They are coming inside.”
“I rather thought they would. This is beginning to get interesting.” He went over to the window. “I estimate that it should take the soldiers at least another half an hour, maybe a little less, to work their way through town. That’s if they’re efficient.”
Marguerite was looking around to see if there was anything that she could knock over or use to free herself when her gaze fell upon the door. The boy had shut and bolted it before and now something was burning its way through the wooden bolt from the other side! Her eyes widened as she saw the tiny wisps of smoke curling up from the bolt. It was as though someone was using a very fine saw on it, but she could see no blade and there was no sound whatsoever.
“More people coming,” Mongoose said. “It’s getting to be quite a-”
The door swung open silently, revealing a tall man holding a small metal tube in his right hand.
“Watch out! “ the boy said and, in the same instant, drew a slim knife from behind his neck and hurled it at the tall man holding the tube. It struck him in the chest and he fell, but whatever sound he made in striking the floor was drowned out by the noise of all the customers downstairs. There were two other men behind him, but all Marguerite saw was a thin, brilliant shaft of light that seemed to appear and disappear all in one second. She did not know how it happened, but suddenly the two other men were on the floor as well, having fallen out of her line of sight.
Mongoose closed the door quickly. He looked at Jean and grinned. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said. “I didn’t even know you carried a knife.”
Jean bent down over the first man, the one he had killed. “I thought it was a pistol,” he said. “What is-”