It was hard work and tedious, slicing across the grain of the boards. The heat made Bill dizzy, and he stopped frequently to wipe away the sweat that streamed down into his eyes. After what seemed an endless age, Hans spoke again.
“I have cut through to the farther slit, sir. Will the Herr Lieutenant be good enough now to place the palm of his hand against the piece that is to come out? There must be no cracking of the wood when we remove it.”
“Okay,” whispered Bill.
Less than five minutes later, he completed his job. Hans took the panel they had cut from the wall and switched off the light in his cabin.
“Stand by,” said Bill. “We’ll be with you just as soon as I can get a drink and put on my clothes.”
“Very good, sir,” returned the man, and Bill climbed out of the bunk.
He went at once to the washbasin where he rinsed out his mouth and drank a few swallows of the tepid water. A quick sluice and a rubdown followed. Then he got quickly into his white linen uniform. Osceola, who was already dressed, spent the time in taking down the blankets, folding them and tossing them onto the upper berth. Far down the passageway they heard a bell tinkle eight times.
“Midnight,” said Bill, in a low tone. “Yes, there’s Otto, relieving our weary sentry at last. We’ll give him five minutes to vamoose, then we’ll get out of here.”
That seemed the longest five minutes of their lives. They kept their eyes glued on the luminous dials of their wrist-watches.
“Time’s up!” said Bill at last.