"But the house is well guarded," murmured Pythagoras.
"Nor would I ask you to run your heads in the same noose wherein mine will swing to-morrow. But keep the hut well in sight. At any hour—any moment now there may be a call of sauve qui peut. Every man for himself and the greatest luck to the swiftest runner."
"But why?"
"Never mind why. It is sure to happen. Any minute you may hear the cry ... confusion, terror ... a scramble and a rush for the open."
"And our opportunity," came in a hoarse whisper from Socrates. "I think that I begin to understand."
"We lie low for the present and when sauve qui peut is called we come straight back here and free you ... in the confusion they will have forgotten you."
"If the confusion occurs in time," quoth Diogenes with his habitual carelessness, "you may still find me here trussed like a fowl to this verdommte beam. But I have an idea that the Lord of Stoutenburg will presently be consumed with impatience to see me hang ... he has just finished some important work by the bridge on the Schie ... he won't be able to sleep and the devil will be suggesting some mischief for his idle hands to do. There will be many hours to kill before daylight, one of them might be well employed in hanging me."
"Then we'll not leave you an instant," asserted Pythagoras firmly.
"What can you do, you two old scarecrows, against the Lord of Stoutenburg who has thirty men here paid to do his bidding?"
"We are not going to lie low and play the part of cowards while you are being slaughtered."