“Never mind,” retorted Roger with a quiet smile; “you leave that to me. Get me something that will serve for a pen, and I will find the ink quickly enough.”
Seeing that Roger was not going to divulge the secret of the ink, Harry joined him in a search of the cell, looking for something that would answer the purpose.
Just at that moment there was a “click”, and, turning quickly round, they perceived that another meal had been pushed in through the trap-door.
“We will leave that for a time,” said Roger, intent upon his search. “The food can wait; but we cannot delay with what we are now doing; for we can never know when we may be interrupted.”
Harry agreed, and the search proceeded without very conspicuous success. A few fragments of straw, a quantity of woolly dust, a few tiny splinters of wood, and a small and extremely rusty nail were all that rewarded them.
“Ah!” ejaculated Harry, “I had forgotten that window-sill; there is more likely to be something in that accumulation of stuff up there than in the cell itself. Come and stand below it, so that I can mount on your shoulders, Roger; and then I can rake about there and see if I can find anything for our purpose.
“And, now that I come to think of it, we have never yet had a look out of that window. We can only see those high walls; there may be something to interest us below there, in the courtyard, or whatever it may be.”
Roger moved quickly to the other end of the cell, and, standing below the grated opening, allowed Harry to clamber up his body and finally to stand upon his shoulders.
Harry then grasped the bars of the grating, to take some of the pressure off his friend’s back, and began to burrow in the heap of dust and rubbish that had accumulated for years upon years on the sill. Suddenly Roger heard his name whispered softly—“Roger, Roger, Roger”, and became aware of the fact that Harry was hurriedly preparing to descend from his perch. Roger eased his friend to the floor, and then asked what was the matter.
“Why,” said Harry, “there is a man below who appears to be waiting there for some definite purpose; and when he saw me at the window he began to make signs, which, unfortunately, I could not understand; and then held out his hands, as though to catch something he expected me to throw out. I cannot make out at all what it is he wants; you had better have a look, Roger.”