“I’ll set you right in a minute,” he said. “I was for a little while in the cholera hospital, and know a little about wounds too.”
Some linen lay at hand, and with this he cleaned the wound and dressed it carefully.
“Thank you, Western!” said McNeil gratefully. “You are my good Samaritan. Now what about this escape? I can just limp along, and shall be ready at any moment.”
“The door is out of the question,” Phil replied thoughtfully. “It is too strong to break, and a guard accompanies the jailer. Then the windows are too small and too high up, while the floor is impossible. The only way is up the chimney.”
“Good heavens! up the chimney?”
“Yes; listen! Our cells communicate by slanting flues, and above the junction rises a brick chimney, which is amply wide enough for our bodies. At present it has bars across it, but my friend—who, by the way, is now my servant—will help me to remove them. Fortunately, a shot has cut the chimney off short, and I noticed before coming in that the drop from the top to the roof is not very great.”
“And what do you intend doing once you get out?” asked the wounded officer. “Remember you are in the fortifications, and the Russians are as thick as peas all round.”
“We must make for the harbour, if possible, and in any case we must chance it. I have been thinking it over this morning; and that is the only way out that I can see. Of course if we cannot get down to the shore and secure a boat, we must creep out between the forts and bolt for our lives. That would be a desperate undertaking.”
Both were thoughtful and silent for a moment.
“Now I think I had better return,” said Phil. “Be prepared at any time, for the sooner we are away the better. Our lives are never safe while Stackanoff has us in his power.”