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It was too late. I could not escape by the hall. Noisy feet were already trampling up the stairs and the clank of armed men filled every passage. "Jee-les-pee! Jee-les-pee! Seven Oaks!" bawled a French voice from the half-way landing, and a multitude of men with torches dashed up the stairs. I took a stand to defend myself; for I thought I might be charged with implication in the massacre.
"Jee-les-pee," roared the voices. "Where is Gillespie?" thundered a leader. "That's you, Rufus, lad! Down with you!" muttered the priest. Before I knew his purpose, he had tripped my feet from under me and knocked me flat on the floor. Overturning the empty coffin-box, he clapped it above my whole length, imprisoning me with the snap and celerity of a mouse-trap.
"Libera nos a malo ora pro nobis, peccatoribus ab hoste maligno defende me ab homine iniquo et doloso erue me peccator videbit et irascetur desiderium peccatorum peribit " came from the priest with torrent speed. "Jee-les-pee! Jee-les-pee!" roared a dozen throats above the half-way landing. Then came the stamp of many feet to the door. "Wait, men!" Hamilton's voice commanded.
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