Lucas beat him off with the sword.

“Every man for himself!” he cried, and sprang down the alley.

“It is not the duke,” I said to Yeux-gris.  “It is most likely the watch.”  I paled at the thought, for the watch was the League’s, and Lucas by all signs the League’s tool.  It might go hard with us if captured.  “Go through the house, M. le Comte,” I cried.  “Quick, if you love your life!  I’ll keep them at the alley’s mouth as long as I can.”

Not waiting for his answer, I rushed down the passage.  At the end of it
I ran against Lucas, who, in his turn, had bowled into Vigo.

XI

Vigo.

I knew of old that it was easier to catch a weasel asleep than Vigo absent where he was needed; yet I did not expect to meet him in the alley.  Monsieur, then, had changed his mind.

“Well caught!” cried Vigo, winding his arms round Lucas, who was struggling furiously for liberty.  “Here, Maurice, Jules, I have number one.  Ah, you young sinner! with your crew again?  I thought as much.  Tie the knots hard, boys.  Better be quiet, you snake; you can’t get away.”

Lucas seemed to make up his mind to this, for he quieted down directly.

“So the game is up,” he said pleasantly.  “I had hoped to be gone before you arrived, dear Vigo.”

We had both been deprived promptly of our swords and Lucas’s wrists were roped together, but my only bond was Vigo’s hand on my arm.

“Where are the others?” he demanded.  “No tricks, now.”

“Here,” I said, and led the way down the passage.  Maurice and Jules, with their prisoner, pressed after us, and half a dozen of the duke’s guard after them.  The rest stayed without to mind the horses and keep off the gathering crowd.

One of the men had a torch which lighted the red pavement.  Vigo saw this first.

“Morbleu! is it a shambles?”

“That is wine,” I said.

“They spilled wine for effect, they spilled so little blood!” Thus Lucas, speaking with as cool devilry as if he still commanded the situation.  Vigo could not know what he meant but he asked no questions; instead, bade Lucas hold his tongue.

“I am dumb,” Lucas rejoined, with a mock meekness more insolent than insolence.  But we paid it no heed for M. le Comte came forward out of the shadows.  He held his head well up but his face was white above his crimsoned doublet.

“M.  Etienne!  Are you hurt?” shouted Vigo.

“No, but he is.”  M. le Comte stepped aside to show us Grammont leaning against the wall.

“Ah!” cried Vigo, triumphantly.  He and two of the men rushed at Gervais.

“You would not take me so easily but for a cursed knife in my back,” Grammont muttered thickly.  “For the love of Heaven, Vigo, draw it out.”

With amazement Vigo perceived the knife.

“Who did it?”