“I want more brandy!” he said thickly. “Have you taken it?” and he lurched to his feet and tried to drain a drop from the empty flagon on the gamblers’ table.
“I can show you more drink,” I said craftily, “if you will cut these bonds.”
“Where is it?” he demanded, and fell to hiccoughing, and, reeling toward me, “where is it, brother?”
“Undo this cord,” I said, holding out my hands, “and I will take you to it.”
He leered at me slily, as if he suspected me, and then he began to fumble with the knots and the perspiration stood out on my forehead. I started at every sound lest someone should come upon us, and the tipsy fool fumbled and cursed.
“Be swift!” I whispered, “be swift, friend, and I will show you a river of drink.”
At this he swore with joy, and wrenching at the knot, until the cord cut my wrists, he got it loose and I pulled my hands out. Once with free fingers I made short work of the bonds on my ankles and leaped up, just as he began to curse me, and cry out that I had fooled him.
“Come!” I said, and pushed him toward the window.
He reeled against it and I sprang upon the sill. The night was black before me and the city seemed full of noises, cries, and discordant sounds, and above, in the sky, there was that luminous pallor that precedes the dawn.
“Where’s your drink?” the tippler mumbled, trying to pull me back, but I knocked him aside.