She led him to the top of the house. The windows at the back overlooked the tiled roofs of the lower houses opposite, slightly above the level of the parapet. The street below was filling with French soldiers, who were battering and firing at the doors, without for the moment doing much damage. From the barricaded and loopholed windows on the other side shots flashed at intervals; the houses were evidently defended in some force, and the throng below were taken aback by the deadly cross-fires from above. The stranger measured with his eye the distance across the street from house to house.
"Have you any boards, tables, anything, about fifteen feet long?" he asked.
"I do not know. Francisco will know."
They ran downstairs.
"Can you bring the Señora up?" asked the youth.
"Yes, I carried her down."
"Please do."
Juanita hastened to the patio below; Jack went into the sala.
"Stop firing now, hombre," he said to the servant. "There is one chance of escape, from window to roof. Are there any planks?"
Francisco put down his musket, and glanced keenly at the speaker, with a touch of surprise at his urgent manner.