"You bet!" Nobby grunted. "Got you square! Take care, young Bill, now. We don't want to see you dashed to pieces, but——"
"But someone's got to do it," said Bill, "and I'm as active as any one of you and fairly light. Down I go! Hang on tight. And don't be afraid to let go when you get the signal."
He was swung through the opening again, and then allowed to drift backward. Once more he caught a glimpse of the clanging couplings just above his head, and of the grating buffers on either side. Then, measuring his distance, he closed the fingers of his right hand, and rather reluctantly that member was released, while he felt the grip on the ankles and the other wrist tighten as if the men were fearful of his escaping from between their fingers. Then he reached upward and without difficulty gripped the first of the handles. Shifting his grasp along it, he then closed the fingers of the other hand, and a minute later was holding on to the single broad handle, while the men inside the van allowed his form to drift still farther backward.
There was team work there between them all—intelligent team work. For though Larry and Jim and the others could not see what Bill was attempting, they could imagine it well enough, and the writhings of his body gave them a hint as to how they were to behave under every circumstance. Yet it was not without reluctance that they let his right leg loose, as he wriggled the ankle, and Nobby, who released it, was more than relieved when Jim, bending over the hole, called to two of them to grip his wrists, and was himself lowered through the opening, head downward, his feet and legs resting on the floor of the wagon. Twisting his head, he could see Bill's right leg swing backward, and presently watched as it was hooked over the foot-rest. Then came another wriggle of the other ankle, and a minute later Bill had practically disappeared, one leg only still showing hooked over the foot-rest.
By the time Jim had been hauled back, Bill had gone, and those within were left staring at the ground below fleeing past them. It seemed ages before there was a clang at one of the doors—the clang of a bolt being shot backward. Then a crevice of light appeared, and, to the amazement and joy of all, a hand was pushed into the compartment—a hand which Nobby gripped and presently drew on—drew on until he finally pulled Bill in amongst them.
"So you did it! Bravo!" he cried, while Jim pushed the sliding door, which Bill had liberated, farther back. As for the latter, he grinned upon his comrades.
"Easy as eating dinner," he said. "There wasn't a padlock, but only bolts, and they didn't take much opening. After that the trick was done. Here we are, boys—there's the road to liberty—only, of course, we've got to slow the train up first. Another conundrum I hadn't thought of."
"I have," Jim joined in. "See here, boys, this train may go rushing on for hours yet, and every foot of the way takes us farther into Germany. You might shout yourself hoarse and the driver of the locomotive would never hear. If we was to take those planks that we've torn from the floor and chuck 'em on the rails, they'd be cut up like carrots, and wouldn't no more derail her than if you was to chuck out Nobby there."
At that the worthy and pugnacious Nobby looked threateningly at the American, and opened his mouth to expostulate.
"No," went on Jim, in deep earnest, unmindful of what he had said, "you couldn't wreck the train if you wanted to. So next thing is to stop her."