Down the stair we tugged him and through the little door, which I locked carefully behind us. We propped our burden in one corner with his back against the wall. He was breathing deeply, with a hoarse, guttural sound, which I felt certain was the death-rattle. There was nothing we could do for him, and we went on down the tower stair, bearing the torch with us. At the foot another narrower flight plunged downward into the living rock of the cliff. I hastened down it, the others following without question. Down and down it went--at what a cost of labor must it have been constructed! At last I was stopped by a little door set in the rock. A coil of rope lay before it. Fronsac gazed a moment at rope and door, then up into my eyes. “I begin to understand,” he said. “But can we open that door, my friend?” “We must,” I answered. “There is no other way.” But I confess my heart fell as I examined it more closely, for it seemed as strong as the cliff itself. A dozen bolts, seemingly, buried in the very heart of the oak, held it to the rock. I could catch a glimpse of them as I pressed my torch to the crevice between wood and stone, and I could see how heavy they were. But to move them--to throw them back. I tried all the keys on Drouet’s ring; not one of them would serve. I battered at the door with the musket, but could not even shake it. The sweat broke out across my forehead at the thought that this might be the end. I looked up and saw Fronsac watching me with a face from which he tried in vain to banish his concern. “We have still at least four hours,” I said, with what cheerfulness I could muster, and turned back again to the door. Could I but cut the wood away I might yet throw back the bolts with the end of my poniard. I hacked at it fiercely. It seemed hard as iron and I could tear away but a splinter at a time. At the end of half an hour I had made little progress. I paused a moment to take breath. “The watches are not changed till midnight,” I said, seeing Fronsac’s despairing face and that of Mademoiselle. “We have near four hours yet, my friend.” But as I turned again to the task, a sudden clatter reached us from the hall above as of some one pounding on the tower door. I understood in an instant, and was up the stair in three bounds. “This way, men!” shouted a hoarse voice. “This way! Rescue!” I sprang blindly forward, groped an instant in the darkness, and dragged Roquefort back from the door, cursing my folly at leaving him unbound. For from the court came an answering shout, a rush of feet, and the wood groaned under a great blow. CHAPTER XIV THE DOOR IN THE CLIFF “BACK! Back!” I cried to Fronsac, who appeared at the stair-head, bearing the torch, and I followed down close at his heels, dragging Roquefort after me, cursing and striking at me madly with his fists, but too weakened by his wound to do any great damage. In two strides we were at the bottom.