“Where are you?” he demanded.
“At the window,” came the answer. “We’re in the back yard. Mr. Sam wants to speak to you.”
On Miss Forbes’s account, Winthrop gave a gasp of relief. On his own, one of savage satisfaction.
“And I want to speak to him!” he whispered.
The moonlight, which had been faintly shining through the iron bars of the coal chute, was eclipsed by a head and shoulders. The comfortable voice of Sam Forbes greeted him in a playful whisper.
“Hullo, Billy! You down there?”
“Where the devil did you think I was?” Winthrop answered at white heat. “Let me tell you if I was not down here I’d be punching your head.”
“That’s all right, Billy,” Sam answered soothingly. “But I’ll save you just the same. It shall never be said of Sam Forbes he deserted a comrade——”
“Stop that! Do you know,” Winthrop demanded fiercely, “that your sister is a prisoner upstairs?”
“I do,” replied the unfeeling brother, “but she won’t be long. All the low-comedy parts are out now arranging a rescue.”