"Your keys, rascal!" cried Turnpenny, and the cold barrel of the caliver within an inch of his ear jogged his memory.
"Mercy! I will fetch them," he said, hastily. The maroon followed him as he ran back into the room opposite, and in a few seconds he returned with his heavy bunch.
"Lock 'em in, sir," said Turnpenny, handing his weapon to Juan. "I be going with this villain to loose the prisoners."
He caught the terrified warder by the shoulder and pushed him into the passage, where he turned to the right towards the stairway leading to the dungeons. Down he bundled him, neck and crop, and forced him to find the key among his bunch and throw open the door.
"'Tis me, comrades," he cried jubilantly into the dark space, "'tis me, your old comrade, Haymoss Turnpenny, come to free 'ee from this cursed hole. Be you there, Ned Whiddon?"
"Ay, ay," came the amazed answer.
"And you, Hugh Curder?"
"Ay, Haymoss, here I be."
"Come out, my hearts. Ah, I hear the chains clanking on your poor legs. 'Tis not for long, dear comrades. Come out; this villain warder will ungyve ye; then do the same with the rest of the comrades and follow up aloft. We have arms for 'ee there, dear hearts. God be praised you be alive! José, you villain, loose their fetters. Ned, I will leave him with 'ee; keep an eye on him."
Leaving the cowed Spaniard in the safe hands of Whiddon and Curder, Turnpenny hastened back to rejoin Dennis, who had locked the door upon the others, and piled their arms against the wall of the passage. Then the three rushed out into the open, and raced at breakneck pace across the courtyard to the main buildings, whence came the sounds of desperate conflict—shots, cries, and the clash of steel.