I could not contradict the fellow—surely that was not the time or place to enter into a discussion as to what my duty might be toward Hildegarde; once it had been my highest ambition to serve her as a man may only serve the one woman he loves on earth, but that had long since passed, and I was no longer anything of a factor in her world, only a bitter memory of a past that she would sooner forget.
Meanwhile Robbins had found a footing on the top round of the ladder.
“Will it hold?” I inquired, eagerly, fearfully, for I dreaded lest the old thing would topple over and precipitate him into the street.
It was bad enough with Robbins, but, deprived of his cheery presence, our chances would be poor indeed.
“Yes, I think so. Take this rope and lower one end with me—it will help steady things. Once below, I’ll put the ladder on a secure foundation.”
Then he went down.
A few brief seconds of suspense—I knew he had reached the street, for he let go the rope, which I pulled up and made a noose at the end.
I could hear him move the ladder some, in order to plant it more steadily.
It was a time of great suspense—those in the garden had discovered our presence on the roof of the toolhouse, and while some ran to the door in the wall, hoping to get out and cut off our escape, others gathered below, and not only shouted at us, but began to throw things, the curs!
I was tempted to open on them with my pistol, but realized that other affairs needed attention.