Suddenly, at the very moment when he reached the level of the floor, there was a fresh noise, a fresh clatter of things falling:  and a form rose from the heap of rubbish with a terrible gesture.

It was swift as lightning.  Don Luis saw the great blade of a scythe cleaving the air at the height of his head.  Had he hesitated for a second, for the tenth of a second, the awful weapon would have beheaded him.  As it was, he just had time to flatten himself against the ladder.  The scythe whistled past him, grazing his jacket.  He slid down to the floor below.

But he had seen.

He had seen the dreadful face of Gaston Sauverand, and, behind the man of the ebony walking-stick, wan and livid in the rays of the electric light, the distorted features of Florence Levasseur!

CHAPTER NINE

LUPIN’S ANGER

He remained for one moment motionless and speechless.  Above was a perfect clatter of things being pushed about, as though the besieged were building themselves a barricade.  But to the right of the electric rays, diffused daylight entered through an opening that was suddenly exposed; and he saw, in front of this opening, first one form and then another stooping in order to escape over the roofs.

He levelled his revolver and fired, but badly, for he was thinking of Florence and his hand trembled.  Three more shots rang out.  The bullets rattled against the old scrap-iron in the loft.  The fifth shot was followed by a cry of pain.  Don Luis once more rushed up the ladder.

Slowly making his way through the tangle of farm implements and over some cases of dried rape seed forming a regular rampart, he at last, after bruising and barking his shins, succeeded in reaching the opening, and was greatly surprised, on passing through it, to find himself on level ground.  It was the top of the sloping bank against which the barn stood.

He descended the slope at haphazard, to the left of the barn, and passed in front of the building, but saw nobody.  He then went up again on the right; and although the flat part was very narrow, he searched it carefully for, in the growing darkness of the twilight, he had every reason to fear renewed attacks from the enemy.

He now became aware of something which he had not perceived before.  The bank ran along the top of the wall, which at this spot was quite sixteen fee thigh.  Gaston Sauverand and Florence had, beyond a doubt, escaped this way.

Perenna followed the wall, which was fairly wide, till he came to a lower part, and here he jumped into a ploughed field skirting a little wood toward which the fugitives must have run He started exploring it, but, realizing its denseness, he at once saw that it was waste of time to linger in pursuit.

He therefore returned to the village, while thinking over this, his latest exploit.  Once again Florence and her accomplice had tried to get rid of him.  Once again Florence figured prominently in this network of criminal plots.