“You must trust me,” said Peregrine kindly.
“Oh, I do!” replied the boy fervently.
“Keep off the wall with your feet, an’ you can,” said Peregrine, and began to lower.
The rope paid out to its fullest, Peregrine got to the window himself. On the ledge he dragged the table upwards, wedged it across the narrow opening.
“Pray Heaven the rope bears us both,” he muttered. “There was no other way.”
Feet braced against the wall he began the descent. To the child below it appeared an eternity before Peregrine’s foot touched his shoulder.
“Ha!” said Peregrine. “Now prepare to drop.”
Swinging by one arm he felt for the rope by his knees, and hacked. A moment’s work, and it gave. The boy rolled on the grass below, none the worse save for a slight jarring.
“All well,” he whispered, scrambling away from the wall. Now Peregrine dropped lightly; was up in a moment but little shaken. He looked at the hanging rope.
“Leaving traces of our flight behind us, we depart,” he said grimly.