“I saw that. Do they hang many here about?”
“I think they do,” replied the prisoner. “Some fling themselves down on the rocks, and others are starved to death. You see, the Armstrongs go off on a raid, and there’s no one here to bring us food, for the women folk don’t like to tamper with that machine that comes to the lower stair. I doubt if Johnny starves them intentionally, but he’s kept away sometimes longer than he expects.”
“Bless me,” cried the king, “think of this happening in Scotland. And now, cobbler, what are we to do?”
“I’m wondering if this man would venture out to the end of the beam and untie the rope,” suggested Flemming.
“Oh, I’ll do that, willingly,” cried the prisoner. “But what is the use of it; it’s about ten times too short, as the Armstrongs well know.”
“Are we likely to be disturbed here through the night?” asked Flemming.
“Oh no, nor till late in the day to-morrow; they’ll be down there eating and drinking till all hours, then they sleep long.”
“Very well. Untie the other end of the rope, and see you crawl back here without falling.”
As the prisoner obeyed instructions, Flemming rose to his feet and began feeling in his pockets, drawing forth, at last, a large brown ball.