His aunt looked at him sharply but there was affection, also, in her glance.
"You'll need a wool shirt, wool socks, and your heavy boots," she said, "and if you break through the lines, send a cablegram to your father. Off with you, now!"
As she spoke, a sound of riotous singing was heard in the village street.
Horace did not hesitate. He dropped from the window-sill.
He had hardly picked himself up when some clothing came flying out of the window and landed beside him with a thump. He hastily picked up the shirt, socks, and boots.
"Follow me," said the hunchback, "and go quietly."
His heart in his mouth, Horace dived after Croquier into the bushes back of the house. They climbed two walls and a hedge, the hunchback clambering as soft-footed as a cat in spite of his ungainly shape, and then passed through a hedge. Crossing a couple of gardens they came to an old well. There the hunchback swung over the well-head and disappeared.
The hole was black, damp and uninviting, but a sound of hammering told that the soldiers had reached the house and the boy followed Croquier without hesitation. As he swung his legs over, his feet touched the rungs of a rough ladder. The hunchback gripped his arm and drew him sideways through a hole in the well-curb.
Drawing breath, Horace found himself in a tunnel.
"Where does this go?" he whispered.