After a brief respite he managed to pull himself together sufficiently to reply, in stammered sentences, to the questions with which his fellow prisoners were eagerly bombarding him. They were, he found, young Doctor Fergusson, Jennings, the Circe's Second Mate, and Wells the Supercargo, all of whom had been condemned to death.
In halting phrases he told them what had happened to himself, but without raising false hopes could find no word to comfort them in their equally desperate situation. They had already explored the dungeon and found escape from it impossible; but none of them was bound, so for a while they speculated on the chances of a break-out next time the door was opened. Yet even as they discussed it they knew that with so many armed men at call they would be overcome before they could get out of the house. Despair reduced them temporarily to silence; then, at Fergusson's suggestion, they prayed together earnestly for deliverance. Afterwards fatigue dulled their distraught minds and they lay face down on the hard stone, their heads pillowed on their arms, in an attempt to get some sleep.
The swift succession of questions and answers which had landed Roger in his present sorry pass ran again and again through his mind. He wondered now if by denying that he was the man who had killed de Caylus he could have saved himself, but doubted it. De Senlac had probably seen him a dozen times when he was working in the bureau of the Marquis at the Hotel de Rochambeau in Paris. In any case he would certainly have been one of the guests at the great ball given there for the King and Queen, at which they had sponsored the betrothal of Athenais to his uncle. A denial could have only postponed the evil hour when some chance phrase, or trick of movement, struck a spark in the Vicomte's brain and illuminated in it the vivid memory of a past meeting.
As Roger mused upon the matter it struck him as peculiarly grim that for a second time de Caylus should have stretched up a hand out of the grave to drag him down into it. In '89 Roger had put down to ill-chance his arrest for the unorthodox duel he had fought two years earlier, but this seemed more in the nature of a lingering malignity exercised by the restless spirit of the dead Count. In that first case Roger had narrowly escaped execution, but powerful friends and his own wits had saved him. He doubted if anything could save him now.
His only hope lay in Dan. He knew that Dan would willingly risk - his own life in an attempt, if he thought it had the least possibility of succeeding; but there would be no chance of that unless he could get help and he could not be expected to make a martyr of himself to no purpose. His prospects of securing adequate aid seemed far
from good, for as a new recruit among the pirates he had probably been accepted only on probation and was being watched. Even should he be unhampered by restrictions on his movements those whom he could risk asking to join him in a forlorn attempt were lamentably few. Tom was now free, as also was Monsieur Pirouet; but apart from them there could be no more than half a dozen of the Circe's crew who had joined the pirates with some reluctance whom he dare approach. Any of them might well betray him before the attempt could be made, and even if he succeeded in getting together a little band of stalwarts what hope could such a handful have against de Senlac's men, who must number well over fifty?
In spite of all the obstacles with which Dan would be faced Roger had great confidence in the courage and resource of his henchman. In consequence he clung to this one ray of hope and, as he turned miserably from side to side on the hard stone, he kept listening for cautious footsteps outside which might herald his delivery.
Gradually the dark hours passed, but no sounds broke the stillness. High up in the wall on the opposite side of the dungeon to the door two patches of greyness appeared. Within ten minutes they had taken on the sharp outlines of small heavily-barred windows. Dawn had come and with it Roger's last hopes vanished. If Dan had found the odds too high against pulling off a coup during the night, it was a certainty that nothing he could attempt would succeed in daylight.
Although the floor of the dungeon was below ground, as Roger could now see, it was a lofty place and roomy enough to hold a score of prisoners without undue crowding; but its only furnishings were a crock of water and a big earthenware vessel half full of fruit. There were no sanitary arrangements and the place stank abominably.
The windows were closed and, except where one small pane had been knocked out, were encrusted with the grime of ages, so they let in little light and he could still see only imperfectly. To quench his thirst he stretched out a hand to take a paw-paw. As he did so something moved on the pile of fruit. Leaning nearer he saw that, half obscured by the rim of the vessel, a huge black spider was lurking there. Its body was as big as a duck's egg, and its hairy legs as long as those of a good-sized crab. From its face protruded what appeared to be four large teeth, set like those of a rabbit.
At Roger's quick movement of retreat the others roused, and saw the venomous-looking brute at which he was staring. Unbuckling his belt Jennings made a swipe at the spider but missed, and as it scuttled away into a dark corner, he said:
"They're not poisonous, but can give a chap a nasty bite. Lucky the fruit was there fer 'im ter feed on, else 'e might ha' tried ter make a meal orf one of us."
"Oh, what's a spider's bite when we shall so soon have to face death," exclaimed the young Supercargo desperately, and burst into a flood of tears.
They did what they could to comfort him, but his nerve had gone and he quietened down only after a fit of hysterics had reduced him to exhaustion. Then for a long time they sat in silence, being unwilling to talk of what lay in store for them yet unable to think of anything else.
At an hour they judged to be about half-past eight, there came a trampling of footsteps in the passage, the key rasped in the lock and the door was flung open. Followed by five other men Cyrano came down the stone steps.
Roger noticed that his left knee was bandaged and that he grimaced with pain every time he put any weight on the leg. But that was small compensation for what followed.
With evident enjoyment he gave an appraising look at Jennings, Wells and Fergusson in turn, then said in a silky voice: "M. le Vicomte has now settled his programme. For the next three days one of you will provide an overture each morning for a vocal concert by the noble Governor of Martinique towards the latter part of the afternoon; and on the fourth day he will give us his final solo. As inducements to you to give full play to your lungs the first of you is to be keelhauled, the second rent apart from being tied by the hands and feet between two downward bent young palm trees, and the third fed to M. le Vicomte's crocodiles."
Neither Jennings nor the Supercargo knew enough French to understand fully what Cyrano had said, but Fergusson did, and after a moment he gulped: "Which of us is to die today?"
Cyrano pointed at Jennings. "He goes first. As a mate of the Circe he knows well the feel of her deck beneath his feet, and now we mean to make him kiss her bottom." With a glance at his men he added: "Come! What are you waiting for. Get hold of him."
Jennings had grasped enough to realize that when they got him outside they meant to kill him. His eyes starting from their sockets he backed against the wall. Then, mouthing a stream of profanity, he suddenly hurled himself upon the nearest pirate. The man went down under the attack but the others grabbed the mate and dragged him towards the steps. Cursing and kicking he was lugged up them. For minutes afterwards his snouts echoed down the passage, until they gradually died away in the distance.