Having satisfied himself that Tom was not on hand, as he had promised to be, Don placed his ear close to the key-hole, and found that he could distinctly hear the footsteps of the floor-guard, as he paced up and down the hall on the other side of the door. There was a fellow who could and would help him if he could only attract his attention. Waiting, with all the patience he could command, until the sentry came down to that end of the hall again, Don rapped softly upon the door, and in a peculiar manner. The footsteps ceased on the instant; the sentry was listening. Again Don gave the mystic signal—one quick rap; then, after a little pause, three more raps, delivered in rapid succession, and presently a voice came through the key-hole.
“B-l-e-r-s!” it whispered.
“R-a-m!” whispered Don, in reply.
“Who is it?”
“Gordon.”
A moment later a key rattled in the lock, the door swung open, and Don stood face to face with the sentry.
“Where’s Fisher?” demanded the latter.
“That’s just what I should like to know,” answered Don. “He said he would be here to let me in, but I haven’t seen anything of him.”
“He’s a pretty fellow,” exclaimed the sentry. “I don’t know whether you can reach your room or not. The guards have been aroused, and I am expecting the officer of the day every minute. But I’ll do the best I can for you. Stay here till I come back.”
The sentry was not gone more than a quarter of a minute. He went as far as the head of the stairs that led to the floor below, and then he turned and ran back on tip-toe. “You’re too late,” said he. “The officer of the day is down stairs, and he’ll be up here in a second. You might as well come out and give yourself up, for the boy who comes after me will not pass you.”