"I don't think so. I'm not going to make a row opening doors. I'm going out at the window."
"If you do, I will, too."
"All right. Go and pull on some things and be back here in fifty-nine seconds. Sharp!"
The boy hurried away.
De Fronsac's room was just below, on the ground floor. It had once been a parlor, but little used, and when the tutor begged to have it for his bedroom, Mrs. Bastable made no objection. It had French windows opening on to the lawn, and De Fronsac said it would be so convenient for him, for he could go out before the household was astir, and compose poems on the Dawn, or satiric odes to the Monstair.
Arthur was back as soon as Jack had pulled on his coat, breeches, and boots.
"Ever climb down a rain-pipe?"
"No."
"Well, you've got to now. I'll go first, to be ready to pick up the pieces. Hist! What's that?"
Jack had spoken in a whisper. Now through the open window he heard a sound as of a latch falling. Going to the window he peered cautiously out from behind the curtain. For a few moments he saw nothing. It was a dark night, but the moon was rising, and he thought he detected a dark figure moving along in the shadow of the wall. The figure went furtively on until the wall ended and a fence began; then Jack lost sight of it.