"One or both of us may have to go out by the window," he said. "At any rate, we have Wellington's authority for the military axiom that a good leader always provides a line of retreat."
"I wonder what became of the rest of that wine?" said Winter, rolling the beer bottle in a shirt and stowing it away.
"I didn't dare ask. Tomlinson can put two and two together rather cleverly. He almost interfered when Harris brought the decanter, so I dropped the wine question like a hot potato."
"It had gone, though, when we came back from Robert's room. Hilton sent for it. Bet you another new hat he emptied——"
"You'll get no more new hats out of me," growled Furneaux savagely, giving an extra pressure to a pair of sharp hooks which gripped the window sill, and from which the rope ladder could be dropped to the ground instantly.
"Sorry. Where did you retrieve that dirty towel?" For the little man had taken from a pocket an object which merited the description, and was placing it in his bag.
"It's one of Hilton's. He used it to wipe bark moss off his clothes. Queer thing that such rascals always omit some trivial precaution. He should have burned the towel with the moccasins; but he don't. This towel will help to strangle him."
"You're becoming a bloodthirsty detective," mused Winter aloud. "I've seldom seen you so vindictive. Why is it?"
"I dislike snakes, and this fellow is a poisonous specimen. If there were no snakes in the world, we should all be so happy!"