Then he thought of a very simple method of verifying his conjectures. He passed the cord about the crowbar and pulled it with all his strength. It parted in three places.
This discovery appalled him.
A part of the rope had fallen with the unfortunate baron, and it was evident that the remaining fragments tied together would not be long enough to reach to the base of the rock.
From this isolated ledge it was impossible to reach the ground upon which the citadel was built.
“You are in a fine fix, Corporal,” he growled.
Honest Bavois looked the situation full in the face, and saw that it was desperate.
“Well, Corporal, your jig is up!” he murmured, “At daybreak they will find that the baron’s cell is empty. They will poke their heads out of the window, and they will see you here, like a stone saint upon his pedestal. Naturally, you will be captured, tried, condemned; and you will be led out to take your turn in the ditches. Ready! Aim! Fire! And that will be the end of your story.”
He stopped short. A vague idea had entered his mind, which he felt might possibly be his salvation.
It came to him in touching the rope which he had used in his descent from the prison to the ledge, and which, firmly attached to the bars, hung down the side of the tower.
“If you had that rope which hangs there useless, Corporal, you could add it to these fragments, and then it would be long enough to carry you to the foot of the rock. But how shall I obtain it? It is certainly impossible to go back after it! and how can I pull it down when it is so securely fastened to the bars?”