“A bottle to that,” he said grimly. “Nothing under a quart reconciles me to a petticoat.”
They sat for an hour—for two hours, swilling fire and wickedness. The night closed upon itself, and the moon was half-across the sky. The frost without crackled in the very heart of the fearful sentry, so that presently he could stand it no more, and tapped on the casement.
“It’s in my roots,” he said, when Brander came to him. “I must be let in or die.”
“I can’t have you in his room, Joe. He’s far too cunning a gentleman to trust you with him.”
“Then give me a drink. A bucket of schnapps wouldn’t drowse me here.”
They handed him out a stiff jorum in a bottle, and closing the window again, resumed their orgy. Another hour passed. Suddenly one beast looked significantly at the other, and both rose. Together they staggered to the door, opened it, and lurched out into the passage. The sentry here came to himself with a start, and stared at them like an owl. They bade him have ears for his only business, and went swaying on to where, by the kitchen, a little stairway led to the floor above. The house was dimly lighted with candles that guttered here and there on brackets. One of these Fern seized in his evil hand, and they ascended softly to a narrow landing. The congested snore of many crapulous ruffians came to them from below; a third sentry nodded at hand on the top step.
“Let him be,” whispered Brander. “He shall be breeched for neglect to-morrow.”
In a little attic, with barred windows, the girl had been confined. Gently they turned the key in the lock, pushed open the door, and entered.
The room was empty as a rifled grave.
Stupidly staring, they saw by the hearth a heap of rubbish, an overturned flag; and with bursting oaths they rushed for the place, and, swinging the light down, were aware of a jagged rent, torn through the rotted fabric, that looked into the room below.