Half incredulous, he crept forward to investigate the cause of the unmistakable sounds, and began noiselessly to remove the sacks from that portion of the wall which they concealed. Two he moved easily, but the third resisted his efforts. In vain he pulled, exerting his strength in an obstinate determination to have his way. As he became dimly conscious that the resistance was rather active than passive, it suddenly ceased, and he stumbled backwards, with the sack in his arms.
Like the full moon on an Autumn evening the fiery head and rosy countenance of Master Robert Wilcox rose slowly into view above the top of the piled bales, and peered cautiously into the shed.
For a moment the two stood staring at one another doubtfully. But as Master Robert slowly perceived the captain's uniform, his jaw dropped, and a look of horror and consternation crept into his face.
"Good Lord!" he gasped, and with a sudden swift movement, his head disappeared from view.
But Captain Protheroe was no whit behind him in rapidity of thought or action. Quick as lightning his arm darted over the sacks, and he grasped firmly the tousled hair of the intruder.
"Hist, you fool!" he whispered. "All's well. I'm one of the prisoners myself. Is it a rescue?"
Slowly the face reappeared and stared doubtfully at the speaker, then having subjected him to a critical survey, and being at length assured by the captain's tone and bearing of his good faith, Master Wilcox heaved a sigh of relief, and rubbed the sweat from his forehead.
"Phew! What an escape," he muttered. "I made sure you were one of those damned sentries. Yes, 'tis a rescue, but not for you," he continued curtly.
"Nevertheless, my friend, I purpose to be one of your party," answered Captain Protheroe coolly, "I and a lady who is here with me."
"A lady; what lady is she?"