The door was on the same side as that on which he was lying and the distance from the edge of the rug to the knife was, as far as he could judge, something like six or eight feet, more than double his own height. Bound as he was he could move neither arms nor legs to help himself. Common sense told him that the only way he could reach the knife was by rolling towards it. And rolling would be no easy matter. Still, it was not an impossibility and as long as he was on the rug not particularly painful. But crossing the bare boards was a very different proposition—dragging his naked feet inch by inch across the roughened dirty surface was a terrible job.
More than once he told himself that he could not do it, that he must lie still and give up. But John Steadman was nothing if not dogged. He had not attained the position he had occupied at the Bar by giving way under difficulties, and at last his task was accomplished. He lay just in front of the door with the knife close to his side. But his difficulties were by no means over yet. Unable as he was to move his hands, how was he to cut the strong cords which bound him. Fortunately for him his hands were not fastened separately, but his arms were tied round his body tightly, the cord going round again and again. It was a method very effective so long as the cord was intact, but Steadman saw directly that, if he could cut it in one place, to free himself altogether would be easy enough. The question was, how was the cord to be cut in that one place? Steadman lay on the ground tied up so that he could not even free one finger, and the knife lay close to him indeed but with the blade flat on the ground.
He lay still for a moment, contemplating the situation. He saw at once that his only hope was in the handle. At the juncture where the blade entered it, the blade was, of course, raised a little from the ground. Now if he could by any means push the knife along until he could rest his arm on the handle, thus tipping the blade up, if only a trifle, and work the cord against it, he might fray the cord through and thus free himself. It was simple enough to recognize that that was what ought to be done, however, and quite another matter to do it. Time after time Steadman rolled over imagining that this time he must be on the handle, only to find that he had inadvertently pushed it away. With the perseverance of Bruce's spider he at last succeeded. Arms, back and sides were grazed and bleeding, but the knife blade was at least a quarter of an inch from the ground. To get the end of the cord against it, to wriggle so that it was brought into contact with the blade forcefully enough to make any impression upon it was anything but easy, but it did not present the apparently insuperable obstacles that he had successfully grappled with in reaching the door and turning the knife round. Strand by strand the cord was conquered and at last Steadman was free. Free, with bruised and bleeding skin and stiffened limbs, and naked as he came into the world.
Escape, even now, did not look particularly easy; but the barrister had not been successful so far to give up now. The first thing to do was to free the inspector. Scrambling up from the sitting position to which he had raised himself he found Furnival lying on his rug regarding him with astonished eyes, and making vain attempts to wriggle towards him. At the same moment his eye was caught by the folded piece of paper which was attached to the knife handle by a piece of string, and which he had noticed when he lay on his rug. He caught it up in his hands and unfolded it. Across the inside was scrawled a couple of lines of writing:
“The window looks straight on to the river, the bars across can be moved upwards. Jump out into the water at once. It is your only chance. If you delay it will be too late—from one who is grateful.”
Chapter XXIII
Steadman read the note over twice. Was it possible that they had an unknown friend in this haunt of the Yellow Gang? Or was it just another trap laid for them like the other communications that the inspector had received?
However, there was no time for deliberation. He turned to the inspector, knife in hand. To cut the bonds that bound the detective was an easy matter, even for his stiffened hands, in comparison with the difficulty of freeing himself. Then, taking the gag from his mouth, he saw that the lips were bruised and swollen both inside and out, and the gag had been thrust in with such brutality that the tongue had been forced backwards and several teeth loosened. As the inspector began to breathe more freely the blood poured from his mouth. But there was no time to be lost.
Steadman left his fellow-prisoner to recover himself while he padded across to the bars. In a moment he saw that his unknown informant was right. The bars would move upwards in their groove, easily enough. Evidently this window was used as a means of egress to the river. Inconvenient things could be pushed through and lost too! When the bars had gone, the window frame was quite wide enough to let a man get through. He leaned out. The moon was shining brightly, and he could see various small craft riding at anchor. As he spoke he heard the splash of oars and realized that at all hazards they must get into the river while the boat was about. Therein lay their hope of safety. He turned to the inspector, who had just struggled to his feet.
“Can you swim, Furnival?”