"Then we must try another way," whispered Jim. "Are you fairly strong in the arms?"
"I ought to be," was the answer, "for I have had three years of slavery. What do you propose?"
"Up on to my back! Quick! That's it. Now lean against the wall, and steady yourself while I straighten to my full height. Can you reach now?"
Without wasting a moment, for time was of the utmost value to them, Jim placed his hand against the side of the dwelling and rounded his shoulders. Grasping his meaning, his companion leapt upon him with one agile spring, having the fortune to alight on the very centre of his back. Then, gingerly advancing his sandalled feet, he placed them on either side of Jim's head, and leant forward till his hands came in contact with the wall. He was a big man, and weighed some twelve stone or more, but though Jim groaned under the burden, and at any other time would have found it a difficult matter to raise himself to the erect position, he now stood upright with scarcely an effort, fear lending strength to his muscles.
"Got it! I've a grip of the coping, and can hang on here until you are up," whispered John Margetson. "But hurry up!"
Stepping back from the wall so as to obtain a little run, and yet carefully keeping within the shadow, Jim leapt forward, and then sprang high in the air, grasping at the dim figure of his companion with both hands. As he dangled there, with fingers clasping his comrade's limbs, he could almost feel the man's sinews crack with the strain, and wondered whether the weight would be too much for him, whether his grasp would be torn from the coping above, and with what sort of crash they would tumble to the ground. Then, as nothing happened, he drew his legs up, and obtained a grip of his living rope. Another hoist, and his hand closed upon his comrade's hair; but, unheeding the pain it must have given, his fingers gripped it, and he pulled without remorse, and tugged, till, little by little, he won his way upwards. Another moment, and the arm was within his reach, then the wrist, and with one last, almost superhuman effort, he found himself clambering over the low parapet. To turn and help his comrade was his next duty, and then both threw themselves upon the hard-beaten mud, breathless with their struggles, but glowing with excitement and the feeling of success.
"Look out! Here they come!" whispered Margetson at this moment.
Taking a hasty look over the parapet, Jim saw some ten men hurrying towards the building, and at once flattened himself upon the roof, squeezing as close to it as he could. Then his hand stole down to his revolver, and he drew it silently. Scarcely had he done so when footsteps and voices were heard below, and, though he dared not look, he was well aware that the very shadow which had proved their hiding-place but a few seconds before was now undergoing a thorough search, from which they could not have hoped to escape had they not climbed to the roof.
"Ah, what is this?" asked one of the Somali warriors, suddenly stooping and picking something up. "I have found a knife, which I am sure did not belong to our prisoner. Here, let me get into the light and look at it."
Following their comrade, the others at once left the shadow and went into the open, where they pressed about him, and gave vent to exclamations of anger and astonishment, for the prize which had been found was Jim's hunting-knife, which must have slipped from his belt during his efforts to reach his position above. Fortunately for him, however, he did not know more than a word of what was being said, and certainly did not grasp the meaning. But his friend did, and trembled as he lay.