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‘I said nothing.’

‘Hum! It is clear that we cannot be starved here. They must come to us if they are to kill us. Behind a barricade of barrels we could hold our own against the five rascals whom we have seen. That is, probably, why they have sent that messenger for assistance.’

‘We must get out before he returns.’

‘Precisely, if we are to get out at all.’

‘Could we not burn down this door?’ he cried.

‘Nothing could be easier,’ said I. ‘There are several casks of oil in the corner. My only objection is that we should ourselves be nicely toasted, like two little oyster pates.’

‘Can you not suggest something?’ he cried, in despair. ‘Ah, what is that?’

There had been a low sound at our little window, and a shadow came between the stars and ourselves. A small, white hand was stretched into the lamplight. Something glittered between the fingers.

‘Quick! quick!’ cried a woman’s voice.

We were on the barrel in an instant.

‘They have sent for the Cossacks. Your lives are at stake. Ah, I am lost! I am lost!’

There was the sound of rushing steps, a hoarse oath, a blow, and the stars were once more twinkling through the window. We stood helpless upon the barrel with our blood cold with horror. Half a minute afterwards we heard a smothered scream, ending in a choke. A great door slammed somewhere in the silent night.

‘Those ruffians have seized her. They will kill her,’ I cried.

Duroc sprang down with the inarticulate shouts of one whose reason has left him. He struck the door so frantically with his naked hands that he left a blotch of blood with every blow.

Here is the key!’ I shouted, picking one from the floor. ‘She must have thrown it in at the instant that she was torn away.’

My companion snatched it from me with a shriek of joy. A moment later he dashed it down upon the boards. It was so small that it was lost in the enormous lock. Duroc sank upon one of the boxes with his head between his hands. He sobbed in his despair. I could have sobbed, too, when I thought of the woman and how helpless we were to save her.

But I am not easily baffled. After all, this key must have been sent to us for a purpose. The lady could not bring us that of the door, because this murderous step-father of hers would most certainly have it in his pocket. Yet this other must have a meaning, or why should she risk her life to place it in our hands? It would say little for our wits if we could not find out what that meaning might be.

I set to work moving all the cases out from the wall, and Duroc, gaining new hope from my courage, helped me with all his strength. It was no light task, for many of them were large and heavy. On we went, working like maniacs, slinging barrels, cheeses, and boxes pell-mell into the middle of the room. At last there only remained one huge barrel of vodka, which stood in the corner. With our united strength we rolled it out, and there was a little low wooden door in the wainscot behind it. The key fitted, and with a cry of delight we saw it swing open before us. With the lamp in my hand, I squeezed my way in, followed by my companion.

We were in the powder-magazine of the Castle–a rough, walled cellar, with barrels all round it, and one with the top staved in in the centre. The powder from it lay in a black heap upon the floor. Beyond there was another door, but it was locked.

‘We are no better off than before,’ cried Duroc. ‘We have no key.’

‘We have a dozen!’ I cried.

‘Where?’

I pointed to the line of powder barrels.

‘You would blow this door open?’

‘Precisely.’

‘But you would explode the magazine.’