'Except dark cells,' assented Simone. 'And those would be for murderers. Ah! they are going in.'
The two were silent as the gaolers drove in their charges. Roger did not turn his head, much less venture a look.
'You watch the south side and I the west,' said Marion. 'He will wait for one second when the sentry is not looking, and will let us know. He must realise we are here to help.'
The minutes idled by. Neither stirred. Marion sick at heart, was beginning to think of condemned cells, when Simone gave a cry.
'I saw it! His hand for one second through the bars! There is the window, Mademoiselle, the third from the end, the south side.'
As she spoke both Marion and Simone uncurled themselves from their cramped position and sat side by side on the floor. Simone winced as her aching muscles asserted themselves, but she soon scrambled to her feet. 'We have been here for hours, Mademoiselle. I am still afraid of the curiosity of the servants.'
Unseen, the two regained the gallery. Marion sank in a chair by the window of her room, her brows knitted, deep in thought. Presently she raised her head...
'It is simple enough,' she whispered. 'He just needs a file and a rope. With two of those bars gone, and a rope, he could let himself down to the ground. That rough boundary wall he could easily climb. What can we do? Oh, what can we do?'
'If we had any friends in the gaoler's house,' said Simone after a time, 'we might send in something—a pie, a dumpling with the file inside. But to arrange that takes a long time and much management. Still, if you think it worth while, Mademoiselle, I will disguise myself as a cook. I will seek the gaoler and—win his regard,' finished Simone.
'Then I should lose you both. No—such a plot—I had already thought of it in the coach on the way—as you said, needs a network of conspiracy. It would involve the kitchen here, and my aunt. It needs knowledge of the interior of the prison, of the particular kind of character of the gaoler. An ordinary gaoler would eat the pie himself. No, the risk that is run must be mine. Above all, my aunt must not suffer. It looks so simple,' Marion added desperately, 'just to get that file and rope into his cell.'