“Hah!” cried Wyatt. “Then he may still be there. Come and have the upper terrace searched.”
This was carefully done by a dozen men despatched in different directions, every possible hiding-place being examined by the aid of the lanterns, without result. It was evident that the marauder could not have descended without help in the shape of a rope, for to have dropped from the parapet meant death; and, wearied out at last with searching and conjecture, the task was given up and the men dismissed.
“Dick,” said Wyatt at last, “we must have a traitor in our midst.”
“I have been thinking that,” was the reply; “but we have not a single man with us that was not brought, or it would be an easy task to find out who is the enemy. The servants would not help.”
“I would not trust them,” said Wyatt bitterly. “We are their masters, and, to them, foreigners and enemies to their faith, which they know well enough we hold in contempt.”
“Perhaps so,” said Dick; “but it seems hard upon them to talk like this. We were ready to suspect them before, and we found two of them cruelly stabbed in our defence.”
“Yes, old fellow, as you nearly were the other night. Dick, Dick, old lad, that was an escape! Well, there, I will not believe it of any one we have in quarters if you can give me a plausible suggestion for thinking otherwise.”
Dick was silent, and his companion stood waiting. “Well, what are you thinking?” he said. “Have you an idea?”
“Just the shadow of one,” said Dick thoughtfully; “but give me time. Let’s do what there is to do, and then go and wash and change. I’m horrible with blood.”
“And I with gunpowder,” said Wyatt. “Well, there is nothing more to do. We shall have no further attack to-night; the sentries are doubled, and we may as well try for a bit of sleep. This is my delicious night’s rest!”