"We've tied 'em up in our shirts, sir. Haul on the rope and we'll have 'em up in a trice."
The bundle was quickly raised and brought into the embrasure without a sound.
"There's a sentry asleep by the tower yonder," whispered Dennis.
"Did 'ee not kill him?"
"No, you could not kill a sleeping man, Amos?"
"I warrant I could, though I'd liever not. But we must do summat with the knave."
"He sleeps sound."
"Maybe, but any moment he might waken, and then t'ud be all over with us. A sailor's knot and a mouthful of shirt will make all snug."
"Very well. We must go quietly."
Soft-footed as cats they stole to the careless sentinel, still drawing the long regular breath of placid slumber. Suddenly the sound changed to a low choking gurgle: Turnpenny had nimbly slipped a strip of his shirt into the man's open mouth. In two minutes he lay straight on his back, his arms and legs firmly bound with lengths of the flexible tendril. Then the two intruders moved swiftly back to the embrasure, and signalled to the waiting men that it was safe for them to ascend.