“As the grave,” I answered, and grasped it.
I arranged with the Pimple for an early séance and rose to go. The Commandant accompanied me to the door. I could see, more by his expressive fingers than by his impassive face, that he was greatly agitated. He put a detaining hand on my arm.
“That was a most serious oath,” he said, looking at me strangely. I tried to fathom the meaning behind the dark eyes, and think I succeeded. It was the vultus instantis tyranni.
“Serious as Death, Commandant,” I said.
He half nodded, and returned my salute with slow gravity.
As I limped down the road in charge of my sentry I felt like singing with happiness. The long weary period of waiting and groping in the dark was past, and the first big step in my plan had been achieved. The Commandant was hooked at last. There would be real excitement in spooking now, with Liberty to greet success at one end, and Heaven knows what to greet failure at the other. And best of all I would no longer be alone. I had long since determined that as soon as the preliminary difficulties had been overcome and a definite scheme became possible, I would seek a companion. I had had enough of plotting and planning in solitude during the last six months. I longed for companionship.
There were probably many men in the camp who would have joined me had they been asked, but there was only one who had given clear proof of his deadly keenness to get away. This was Lieutenant C. W. Hill, an Australian Flying Officer. I knew how he had trained for three months in secret during the spring of 1917; how, while others slept, he had crept down to the cellar and spent hours a night doing the goose-step with a forty-pound pack of tiles on his back, and how time and again he had tested the vigilance of the sentries. As has been already mentioned, his plan was discovered by his fellow officers on the eve of his departure, and he was stopped by them and placed on parole. The disappointment to him had been almost unbearable. I guessed he was in the mood for anything, and knew he would never “talk,” even if he refused my offer.
He possessed other qualities which would make him an invaluable collaborator for me. He had extraordinary skill with his hands. He was, perhaps, the most thorough, and certainly the neatest carpenter in the camp. (The camera which he secretly manufactured out of a Cadbury’s cocoa-box was a masterpiece of ingenuity and patience.) He could find his way by day or night with equal ease, and he could drive anything, from a wheelbarrow to an aeroplane or a railway engine. Lastly, he was a wonderful conjuror, the best amateur any of us had ever seen.
I knew I was choosing well, but I little knew how well. Seeking a practical man, with patience and determination and a close tongue, I was to find in Hill all these beyond measure, and with them a great heart, courage that no hardship could break, and loyalty like the sea.