In spite of his objections Hamerton tackled the task with energy, and as a result of their joint labours the comrades had the satisfaction of being in possession of thirty feet of apparently serviceable rope.
"Time!" whispered the Sub laconically.
Five minutes sufficed to complete the removal of the bars. Hamerton, having made one end of the rope fast to the bed frame, clambered up the ledge, and listened intently. Not a sound was audible above the howling of the wind and the hissing of the rain. The Heligoland searchlights were not running, but from Sandinsel four powerful beams were swaying across the cloudy sky like gigantic inverted pendulums.
"All clear!" he whispered.
Detroit handed up the coiled rope. The Sub was about to drop it into the black vault beneath him, when he saw the glimmer of a lantern on the rainswept pavement below. Crouching on his narrow perch the Sub waited. The rays of the lantern reflected in the puddles of the courtyard; it glinted upon naked steel and upon the brass helmets of a file of soldiers.
"What's up?" whispered Detroit, unaware of the reason of the delay.
"Hist!" exclaimed Hamerton, not trusting himself to say more.
Straight towards the staircase came the men. The Sub felt his head throbbing violently. They were more than likely sent to escort the alleged spies to another place of detention.
With a dull crash the butts of a dozen rifles struck the stone pavement as the men halted and grounded arms. With bent shoulders, in a vain attempt to shelter themselves from the rain, the soldiers waited while the sergeant, lantern in hand, ascended the steps, followed by an enormous bloodhound.
Hamerton durst not crane his neck to see what went on almost underneath the window. He could distinguish Hans's voice replying to the sergeant's questions, but the din of the storm prevented the listener from understanding the nature of the conversation.