“A plot--yes,” I nodded. “But to business. You will turn over on your face, if you please.” He hesitated, and I compelled his obedience with a prod of the poniard. He turned over slowly, with many groans. “Now cross your hands behind you.” The hands came back reluctantly. I snatched his belt from about his waist and in a moment had the hands secure. I pulled on the belt until the blood seemed ready to burst from his finger-tips, for I could take no chances. A strip from his leathern jerkin served as a thong for his feet. I rolled him over. “You see how much easier it would be for me to kill you than to take all this trouble,” I remarked. “But I am merciful--I am no butcher. However, I wish to be quite safe, so I shall be compelled to gag you.” I tore another wide strip from his jerkin and stuffed his mouth full of the straw that had formed my pallet. It was not over clean, but was infinitely better than death. I bound the strip close over it and stood for a moment looking down at him. “Ah,” I said, remembering suddenly my instructions, “you have some keys somewhere about you. Let us see.” I knelt beside him, and in a moment had the keys--a great ring of them. As I arose I saw that he was making a frightful effort to speak. “What is it,” I asked, “the wound?” He nodded violently. I knelt again and looked at it. It was bleeding slightly, but did not seem of a serious nature. “I will fix that for you,” I said, and I bound a rag about it to stop the bleeding. “Now you are all right.” I realized that I was spending too much time over Drouet, and I hurried to the door and opened it. In the half-light I saw the sentry lying against the wall. As I dragged him into the cell I shuddered to see that his skull had been crushed by a single blow from behind. Evidently my ally did not share my tender nerves. I placed him against the wall opposite Drouet, who stared at him with distended eyes, plainly understanding nothing of the mystery of his death. “That would have been your fate,” I said, “had any but I dealt with you. I wish you a pleasant night, Monsieur,” and I left the cell, bolting the door behind me. Certainly it would take Roquefort some little time to get it open again and learn Drouet’s story. The corridor was very dark, but I groped my way to the spot where the sentry had fallen, picked up his musket, and made my way down to the floor below. There I found a torch burning, doubtless for the sentry’s use. In a moment I was fumbling at the door of the cell there. Half a dozen keys I tried, and at last the lock turned. I threw the door open with feverish haste. Within, I saw a figure lying on a pallet in one corner. “Fronsac!” I called. “Fronsac!” He sprang towards me with a cry of amazement. “Is it you, Marsan? We are going to escape then?” “We are going to try,” I answered, as I returned the warm pressure of his hands. “Come, Monsieur, there is not a moment to lose.”