“Isn’t this the easiest way?” she snapped.
“Yes, if you want to get run over.”
Without waiting for her, he turned, shouldered the ladder, and made for a platform on the inner side of the bay. A ten-foot wall indicated the station’s boundary. Irene ran after him. Within a few yards they were hidden by the train from the sentry’s sight.
“That was clever of you!” she whispered breathlessly.
“Speak German, even when you think we are alone,” he commanded.
The platform curved sharply, and the train was a long one. When they neared the engine they saw three men standing there. Dalroy at once wrapped the lamp in a fold of his blouse, and leaped into the black shadow cast by the wall, which lay athwart the flood of moonlight pouring into the open part of the station. Quick to take the cue, it being suicidal to think of bamboozling local railway officials, Irene followed. Kicking off the clumsy sabots, Dalroy bade his companion pick them up, ran back some thirty yards, and placed the ladder against the wall. Mounting swiftly, he found, to his great relief, that some sheds with low-pitched roofs were ranged beneath; otherwise, the height of the wall, if added to the elevation of the station generally above the external ground level, might well have proved disastrous.
“Up you come,” he said, seating himself astride the coping-stones, and holding the top of the ladder.
Irene was soon perched there too. He pulled up the ladder, and lowered it to a roof.
“Now, you grab hard in case it slips,” he said.