Yet I had nothing to guide me. After the whistle of the launch we could not hear a sound to indicate what was passing—the racket of the wind made that impossible. Had I foreseen this, I saw how simply I could have avoided this perplexity. A hole or two bored in the big gates or a brick loosened in the partition wall between the two sheds would have sufficed; and I cursed my stupidity in having lost sight of the precaution.
“Can you hear anything?” I whispered to Burroughs, but both he and Bryant were in the same dismayed perplexity as I.
“There seems a hitch somewhere,” he whispered back.
“Well, I shan’t wait any longer,” I decided a moment later, and I opened the door with as little noise as possible.
It creaked horribly on the hinges, however, and jammed half-way, and I caught my breath, fearing that the wrench I had to give it must surely be heard by those in the adjoining shed. Then the wind came rushing through with most disconcerting violence; and I only just succeeded in preventing the door from slamming to with a tell-tale bang.
“A bold face on it, and we shall soon know,” I said as we started through the drenching rain squall.
Burroughs went in front with Bryant close to his side, while I kept behind as I did not wish the man who was on the look-out to see that there were two replicas of the king’s august person.
The rain gave us invaluable help, for it rendered impossible any exact recognition of us by the man on the watch.
We walked some ten yards along the narrow passage before he even saw us. Then he waved his whip, jerked at his horses, and began to back them past the end of the building to our left.
At that moment the strenuous excitement was relieved by a touch of the ludicrous. In the preoccupation of the period of suspense I had forgotten to stick on the false moustache without which any imposture would have been instantly detected.