Once upon the terrace, he
paused to look back. They still kept calling after him, and just
then began to double the pace in pursuit, with a considerable clank
of armour, and great tossing of the torchlight to and fro in the
narrow jaws of the passage.
Denis cast a look around and darted into the porch. There he might
escape observation, or - if that were too much to expect - was in a
capital posture whether for parley or defence. So thinking, he
drew his sword and tried to set his back against the door. To his
surprise, it yielded behind his weight; and though he turned in a
moment, continued to swing back on oiled and noiseless hinges,
until it stood wide open on a black interior. When things fall out
opportunely for the person concerned, he is not apt to be critical
about the how or why, his own immediate personal convenience
seeming a sufficient reason for the strangest oddities and
resolutions in our sublunary things; and so Denis, without a
moment's hesitation, stepped within and partly closed the door
behind him to conceal his place of refuge. Nothing was further
from his thoughts than to close it altogether; but for some
inexplicable reason - perhaps by a spring or a weight - the
ponderous mass of oak whipped itself out of his fingers and clanked
to, with a formidable rumble and a noise like the falling of an
automatic bar.
The round, at that very moment, debauched upon the terrace and
proceeded to summon him with shouts and curses.
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