“I have bound and gagged the watchman behind yon gravestone,” he reported, “and here is the key to the tower door.”
A whispered command traveled along the line of carts. Then there was a general doffing of blankets and turbans and the band of Peter, in leather jackets and hats, high hose and tall soft boots, stood ready behind their carts to follow the leader into his excellently planned enterprise.
It was but a short distance from the carts to the tower, and Peter led the way, keeping close to the ground in the shadow cast by the tower. They stood at length, about twenty of them, within the shelter of the angle which the tower made with the church.
“Keep close behind me,” said the leader, “when we mount the steps, and watch lest there be loose boards in the stairs beneath your feet. The boy is here this night in the tower with his father. Mount carefully, but rush and secure both father and son when I give you word.”
Here he fitted the key which Michael had stolen from the watchman, to the lock, and swung the small iron door on its hinges. He had to stoop as he went in.
“Quiet,” he whispered, “follow closely.”
In a very few minutes they were all inside. The last man following directions closed the iron door so that if a curious passer-by should inspect it, he would find it shut as it was usually.
“The task is easy,” whispered Peter when they had climbed the narrow steps that led to the stairs built in the tower scaffolding, “we have now but to bag our rabbit. But you must see to it that he is not a noisy rabbit. If he once gets his hand on a bell rope he will awaken the whole town with his ringing. He must be secured quickly.”
They went up and up, mounting quietly the stairs that wound about the heavy scaffolding, and treading ever carefully so that not a single board should squeak. At last the leader stopped.
“The light is just ahead,” he whispered.