“Anthony, dear lad, Anthony, open quickly; it is I.”
The brickwork slid back and a hand touched his face out of the pitch darkness of the tunnel.
“Who is it? Is it you?” came a whisper.
“It is I, yes. Thank God you are here. I feared——”
“How could I tell?” came the whisper again. “But what is the news? Are you escaped?”
“No, I am a prisoner, and on parole. But there is no time for that. You must escape—we have a plan—but there is not much time.”
“Why should I not remain here?”
“They will search to-morrow—and—and this end of the tunnel is not so well concealed as the other. They would find you. They suspect you are here, and there are guards round this place.”
There was a movement in the dark.
“Then why think——” began the whisper.