At the inn Strode was waiting for me in some impatience, if not alarm, fearing foul play, from the delay in my return. After dinner we lit our cigars and strolled out. Then I told him the whole story, which indoors I had dared only hint at. I should have taken him into my confidence anyhow, situated as I was, and feeling quite certain of his staunchness and grit; but, beyond that, I had come to the conclusion that his help would be absolutely necessary in the next night’s most hazardous undertaking. This he readily promised, as I felt sure he would, and even with more alacrity than could have been counted on.
“I shall simply revel in being your comrade in this affair, or humble servant, if you like,” he said heartily. “I’m sick of hanging and mooning about, taking pot-shots at birds and vermin, with an occasional wink at a stupid grinning peasant girl. Ah, my dear fellow, I’ve been in the swim, and know what it is; slow enough, Heaven knows, at the best; I’ve gone under through my own folly, and if you knew what the feeling is, the sense of failure and degradation, you wouldn’t wonder that the excitement of a business like this is like brandy to a knocked-out man. I was thinking I’d have soon to get up a shine on my own account, but this will suit me far better; we have the merit of a decent action at our backs and are not a pair of idiots joining in a scrimmage out of sheer devilry. Why, hang it! man, there’s a touch of the old-time chivalry about the racket, with brainwork thrown in. Yes; I’m your man, to see you through this little frolic, and be thankful for the chance.”
We talked over the plan I had laid and the necessary preparations. The delay kept me in a disagreeable state of chafing and suspense, but we both voted it to be unavoidable. To have any chance of success, the attempt had to be made by night, and that night it was impracticable. Our walk had taken us near the entrance to the tunnel.
“I don’t know what it is,” I said, “but now the way is found, I feel I cannot keep from that poor girl’s prison.”
“You are going through?” Strode asked. “Will you let me come with you? I may as well get the hang of the place.”
With the half-formed intention, I had provided myself with a supply of light. We let ourselves down into the passage and set forward towards the Monastery, scarcely purposing, perhaps, to reach the other end. But we groped on and on, Strode often making me smile by his characteristic comments and ejaculations. Neither of us suggested turning back, until some twenty minutes’ uneasy progress brought us to the steps leading to the trap-door. Here we stayed awhile.
“So we are actually within the walls of that cursed den of iniquity, are we?” Strode observed. “Look here! We’ve got our revolvers; I’m game, if you are, to carry the place by surprise and hurry these hellish Johnnies to the warm quarters that are waiting for them.”
I knew that was sheer madness, so checked his ardour. At the same time, however, this dare-devil ally of mine gave me a very pleasant feeling of confidence.
“Before we return,” I said, “I have a good mind to run up and see that all is yet well. It is worth while as we are so near.”
Strode laughed and nodded sagaciously. “All right, mein Herr. Can’t say I see the utility of the move since you don’t fall in with my suggestion, but then probably utility is not altogether your motive. I’ll wait for you here. Don’t make a fool of yourself, that’s all.”