Carefully lowering himself, it was not long before he was back in his own cell, and telling Tony all that had happened and what chances there were of escape.
“Speak low, mate,” said Tony cautiously. “Tell yer what it is. This ’ere Froggy”—and he nodded contemptuously at Pierre—“ain’t worth a bag of salt. My advice is, don’t tell him what we’re up to. You can see he ain’t got the pluck to get out of this, and he’s bound to know he’ll catch it if we get away and leave him. So he’ll round on us if we’re not careful.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Phil.
“Look at the fellow then, and perhaps you’ll change your mind,” replied Tony in a whisper.
Pierre was lying disconsolately in his corner, and when Phil glanced at him the Frenchman’s eyes were shifty. He looked ill at ease, and was evidently deeply curious as to his fellow-prisoners’ movements.
“What for does monsieur mount ze chimney?” he asked peevishly. “Eef ze door open, what happen? Vraiment, ze bang;” and he shuddered at the thought that all would be shot.
“Look here,” said Phil sternly, and with hardly repressed anger and contempt, “that man Stackanoff has got us in his clutches, and if we are to live we must escape. I went up the chimney for that purpose, but could see no way out in that direction. If we find a loophole, you must decide whether to accompany us; but mind me, do not attempt to betray us, or we will break your neck!”
“Betray monsieur! Ah, non!” the little man cried, lifting his hands in expostulation. “Surely I will come with you. I will brave ze death.”
“Mind yer do then,” grunted Tony, looking searchingly at him.
But the incident, small as it was, was sufficient to put Phil and his friend on their guard, and after that they kept their counsels to themselves.