The Russian soldier struggled and did his best to cry out. But he was no match for the two young Americans, who did not handle him with as much care as he might have received had the case been less desperate. He received a stinging blow in the ear, and another on the chin, and sank like a log to the floor unconscious.
“Now or never!” cried Gilbert. “Wait till I see if the coast is clear.”
He opened the door a few inches and peered forth. Only one guard was in sight, and in a moment this fellow had disappeared around an angle of the passageway.
“Come on!” whispered Gilbert hoarsely.
“Wait—I want this pistol,” answered Ben, and in a trice he had the weapon from the unconscious soldier and also his box of cartridges. Then he ran after his chum, who was already outside of the room, and bolted the door in the usual fashion.
They had made up their mind which way to turn, and now ran at their best speed to where a flight of stone steps led to a small stone court. The door to the court was open, so that some fresh air might enter the prison hallway. Outside all was dark, wet, and apparently deserted.
But they knew some guards must be at hand, and they crawled along close to some empty boxes and barrels with which the courtyard was littered.
“Bring a box along,” whispered Gilbert, picking up one himself, and Ben understood and did as requested.
A few minutes more and a flash of lightning showed them where the end of the courtyard was. This also revealed to them a guard, standing in the shelter of the wall, trying to keep out of the driving rain. The guard’s back was toward them, so he did not see the young Americans.
“Here’s as good a spot as any,” whispered Gilbert presently, and placed his box close to the wall. Ben put the second box on top and both climbed up. Then over the wall they went, and darted down a lane which another flash of lightning revealed.