"Try and find what he wants," he whispered to Featherstone. "It is my old Reynolds. Careful!"
While he whispered there was a crash on the road that made the whole group start. The harness had wholly given way and the shafts had come to the ground.
The old driver was in a sad plight, and he looked helplessly at the wreck of his team. He turned wistfully to the Warder and asked him to send one of the prisoners to his aid.
"Here, you, No. 16," shouted the Warder to the Duke; "lend a hand here on the road; look alive, now." The old man went toward the wall, as if nothing could surprise him, no indignity arouse a spark of resentment. He tried to hurry to win the Warder's approbation; but in doing so he stumbled in climbing the low wall, upon which he turned to the officer with a look of apology.
Geoffrey took advantage of this moment to offer his services. He leaped from the cairn, and asked the Warder to let him take the place of the old man.
"All right—go along. Here, you, No. 16, scramble back to your work. If you don't look out you'll lose your good-conduct marks."
Mr. Sydney gave the Duke a look of sympathy and a smile of cheer as he took his place on the windlass again, and Featherstone looked down from the cairn at both his old friends with actual tears in his eyes.
Meanwhile Geoffrey had gone out to Reynolds, and in bending to the shaft gave the old man's hand a grip of welcome and gratitude. Reynolds moved to the other side of the cart, and stooping out of sight of the Warder took a letter from his pocket and showed it to Geoffrey. Featherstone, from the top of the cairn, saw the movement and made a brilliant stroke.
"Look out, down there!" he shouted to the old men, "my hand is caught in the bight!"
There was a brief excitement in which the Warder joined, while Featherstone played his part to the life. When it had passed the cart was raised, and Geoffrey had the letter in his stocking.