They heard the gangs march past on the other side of the wall. The sound of the warders locking the iron bridges on the canals came up to them clearly. In a few minutes the whole orderly closing of the day's work was over. They heard the lower gate of the prison slam heavily into place and the key turn in the lock, not twenty-five yards from where they lay.
As soon as the gate was closed, Geoffrey rose and cautiously looked all round. Not a living thing was in sight. He knew that they had a clear hour's start, and he gave the word:
"Now, friends, follow me."
They crossed the wall, and ran straight for the new tool-shed. Geoffrey forgot that his speed was much greater than that of the older men. Featherstone kept up; but the Duke lagged, and Mr. Sydney, who ran lamely, was left far behind.
When the two latter came up to the tool-house they met Geoffrey and Featherstone shouldering a long new plank, and making for the first canal at the foot of the hill.
"Follow us," they said; and, though awkwardly burdened, they far outstripped the Duke, while poor Sydney's pace grew slower and slower.
The plank was down and waiting for them when they came to the canal. They crossed, and Geoffrey and Featherstone pulled in the plank and set off for the next. There were nine canals to be bridged in this way.
The slowness of Sydney caused the loss of many precious minutes. At every trench they had to wait for the poor old fellow. When they came to the seventh canal, he stood on the prison side when all had crossed, and refused to move.
"God speed you, my dear friends," he said, with quivering voice. "I cannot go any farther. You will all be lost if I attempt it. I cannot run any more—nor could I even walk the distance you have to go."
"Oh, Sydney, come!" cried Geoffrey, with painful impatience.