"Time to be going," Geoff told Phil, and his chum agreed with an emphatic nod which showed his willingness.
"Then out with the rope. It's lighter here than it seemed to be in the courtyard; but no matter, we've got to make the best of it, and, I can tell you, it will want quite a lot to stop us."
"It will!" the enthusiastic Phil admitted, with one of his happy, encouraging smiles. "You may take it from me, my boy, it ain't going to be von Hildemaller—or whatever's his name—or any Turk that's going to lag me this time if I can help it. There goes the rope and another cushion. Jingo! They've landed splendidly, and I believe if this old rope lets us down, and breaks of a sudden, we should land quite comfortably at the bottom. Who goes first—you?"
"Either. I don't mind. Out you go—you're nearest."
Phil made no bones about the matter, and wasted no time and no breath in attempting to argue the question. He was on the window-sill in a moment, and, swinging himself out, gripped the rope, and with splendid youthful assurance at once trusted his life to it. Geoff watched him slithering down, stopping every few feet as his hands and feet came into contact with the knots they had made, till at last he was at the bottom.
Meanwhile the shouts and noise about the prison had increased in proportion if anything, while sounds, echoed by the stone, vault-like walls of the place and the large corridors, came even to the Governor's quarters. Steps could be heard on the stairs which led to the door—now firmly bolted—and the panting of at least two individuals. Then blows were rained upon it, and voices shouted to those within to open. The Turkish governor—for undoubtedly it was he, with von Hildemaller at his elbow—jerked angry threats through the keyhole, and bellowed loud orders to his servants to admit him. And had Geoff been able to watch the scene he would have observed the worthy von Hildemaller leaning against the stone door-post, his face a purplish colour, his nose shining, his eyes, still prominent, flashing angrily and indicating the temper and hatred which consumed him, while his wide lips were set apart, the moustache—that moustache so disagreeably stained with the smoke of cigarettes—was distinctly bristling, and the teeth were set in a snarl which, had the Turkish governor had time to take note of it, would perhaps have scared him considerably. For the rest, the German was out of breath, utterly unnerved by what had happened, positively shaking in every limb, perspiring more heavily than he had ever done before, and spasmodically dabbing at his face with his red handkerchief.
"Open, fools, dolts, wretches!" shouted the Governor, and then turned despairingly to the German.
"What—what next?" demanded von Hildemaller fiercely, panting half-way through the sentence.
"There's something wrong. I cannot make these dolts of servants of mine hear me. The place is locked, and yet I left the door unlatched when I came down to visit you but a few moments ago. The thing is inexplicable."
If the Turkish governor found the matter hard of understanding and difficult to explain, the wily, cunning von Hildemaller rapidly saw to the bottom of it. A man such as he, gifted with a scheming brain, was just the one to realize that prisoners interned in such a place and escaped from their cell were yet not at large nor at liberty. This was just the reckless sort of thing that those British subalterns would do. It was like their effrontery to usurp the place of the Governor himself and secrete themselves in his quarters.