It is Narcisso.
“Can you place your hands in the aperture?” said he.
“No; they are tied behind my back.”
“Can you bring them opposite, then?”
“No; I am standing on my toes, and my wrists are still far below the sill.”
“Are your comrades all similarly bound?”
“All.”
“Let one get on each side of you, and raise you up on their shoulders.”
Wondering at the astuteness of the young Spaniard, I ordered Chane and Raoul to lift me as he directed.
When my wrists came opposite the window I cautioned them to hold on. Presently a soft hand touched mine, passing all over them. Then I felt the blade of a knife pressed against the thong, and in an instant it leaped from my wrists. I ordered the men to set me down, and I listened as before.