“The roof,” I cried, and I knew I had found the key to the problem. “It is battlemented, is it not?”
“Yes,” and Richelieu looked more and more astonished. “But I do not yet understand, my friend.”
“Wait,” I said. “Let me think a moment,” and I sat down upon the bench, my head between my hands. Richelieu paced feverishly up and down the cell. At last I had it.
“M. le Duc,” I said, as calmly as I could, for my heart was beating madly, “I have a plan. It is not promising, perhaps, but I believe it is the best that offers. I will remove one of the bars of the window. We will secure a rope. I will stand upon the sill without and throw the rope over a merlon of the battlement. We will mount to the roof and after that trust to Providence. There must be some way down, and if there is, we will find it.”
Richelieu’s eyes were blazing.
“But can we do all this?” he asked.
“We must,” I said. “The most difficult thing is the rope. It must be twenty or thirty feet long, and strong enough to bear us. If we had our cloaks——”
“I will get our cloaks,” cried Richelieu. “I will make the rope. Come, I must return. The guard will soon be here. Slip the stones into place after me,” and he dropped lightly into his cell.
I dropped the stones back into place, and heard him pounding at his door. The sentry answered him.
“There is no bedding in this place,” called Richelieu, “and it will be cold to-night. At least I and my friend should have our cloaks. Ask M. de Maison-Rouge if he will not send to my hotel and secure us two good, heavy ones.”