In a moment more he had lifted himself
over the fireplate and dropped safely on to the hearth of his own
bedroom.
The fresh air and the familiarity of the room, as he looked round, swept
the confusion out of his brain like a breeze. The thundering and shouting
continued below. Then he went on tip-toe to the door and opened it. Round
to the right was the head of the stairs which led straight into the
little passage where the struggle was going on. He could hear Robert's
voice in the din; plainly there was no way down the stairs. To the left
was the passage that ended in a window, with the chapel door at the left
and the false shelves on the right. He hesitated a moment between the two
hiding-places, and then decided for the cupboard; there was a clean
doublet there; his own was one black smear of soot, and as he thought of
it, he drew off his sooty shoes. His hose were fortunately dark. He
stepped straight out of the door, leaving it just ajar. Even as he left
it there was a thunder of footsteps on the stairs, and he was at the
shelves in a moment, catching a glimpse through the window on his left of
the front court crowded with men and horses. He had opened and shut the
secret door three or four times the evening before, and his hands closed
almost instinctively on the two springs that must be worked
simultaneously. He made the necessary movement, and the shelves with the
wall behind it softly slid open and he sprang in. But as he closed it he
heard one of the two books drop, and an exclamation from the passage he
had just left; then quick steps from the head of the stairs; the steps
clattered past the door and into the chapel opposite and stopped.
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