Henri, leaning over the edge, drew the cord connection taut, indicating to the holders below that all was ready at the top. The boy felt sure that Roque would understand—for it was Roque he had seen in the circle of light when the ball was thrown.
Sure enough, the cord was drawn downward, and the rope followed the cord, with, happily, plenty to spare for the making of a safe and secure anchorage.
"Roque is something of a sailor, as we know, and he'll come up all right, with a good purchase for his feet against the wall. As for Schneider, the three of us can hoist him, if necessary."
Billy's advance arrangement went somewhat awry, for it was Schneider's red top showing first in the light over the brink, and Roque was the one hauled, almost a dead weight, to solid ground and safety at the end of the swaying rope, looped under his armpits.
The secret agent's right hand rested in an improvised handkerchief sling, and his face was set in the pallor of pain.
But how strangely gentle had grown the piercing fixity of those hard-speaking eyes when turned upon the rescuers who had dared so much in a feat wonderful to record in aviation annals.
"You might have waited until daylight," he chided, his voice freighted with emotion, "and with less risk to yourselves."
"And the morning found a couple of maniacs cavorting around this wilderness. No, sir, the rest cure wouldn't have been the right prescription for us. Eh, Henri?"
"He's as right as a trivet, Mr. Roque; we took the proper tonic," assured Henri.
"A man's size swallow for all that," was Schneider's amen.