empt to escape
us.

A hoarse laugh sounded from behind the door.

'I am not a man who surrenders. But I will make a bargain with you.
I have a small matter of business to do to-night. If you will leave me
alone, I will give you my solemn pledge to surrender at the camp
to-morrow. I have a little debt that I wish to pay. It is only to-day
that I understood to whom I owed it.'

'What you ask is impossible.'

'It would save you a great deal of trouble.'

'We cannot grant such a request. You must surrender.'

'You'll have some work first.'

'Come, come, you cannot escape us. Put your shoulders against the door!
Now, all together?'

There was the hot flash of a pistol from the keyhole, and a bullet
smacked against the wall between us. We hurled ourselves against the
door. It was massive, but rotten with age. With a splintering and
rending it gave way before us. We rushed in, weapons in hand, to find
ourselves in an empty room.

'Where the devil has he got to?' cried Savary, glaring round him.
'This is the top room of all. There is nothing above it.'

It was a square empty space with a few corn-bags littered about. At the
further side was an open window, and beside it lay a pistol, still
smoking from the discharge. We all rushed across, and, as we craned our
heads over, a simultaneous cry of astonishment escaped from us.

The distance to the ground was so great that no one could have survived
the fall, but Toussac had taken advantage of the presence of that cart
full of grain-sacks, which I have described as having lain close to the
mill. This had both shortened the distance and given him an excellent
means of breaking the fall. Even so, however, the shock had been
tremendous, and as we looked out he was lying panting heavily upon the
top of the bags. Hearing our cry, however, he looked up, shook his fist
defiantly, and, rolling from the cart, he sprang on to the back of
Savary's black horse, and galloped off across the downs, his great beard
flying in the wind, untouched by the pistol bullets with which we tried
to bring him down.

How we flew down those creaking wooden stairs and out through the open
door of the mill! Quick as we were, he had a good start, and by the
time Gerard and I were in the saddle he had become a tiny man upon a
small horse galloping up the green slope of the opposite hill.
The shades of evening, too, were drawing in, and upon his left was the
huge salt-marsh, where we