“All right,” said Wylie. “Take my revolver, and don’t hesitate to shoot. I wonder if Armitage is down below?”
He whistled softly, and an answering whistle came up, while the limp, dangling ladder became firm. Once again Zoe was thankful for her moccasins, for it was much more nervous work descending the loose rungs of rope than those of the wooden ladders. Wylie guided her feet as before, and slowly and steadily they came nearer to the darkness which meant firm ground. She had kept up valiantly hitherto, but when it came to the last step she could not induce herself to take it. She seemed to have been crawling down shaking ladders for unnumbered hours, and she clung shivering to the ropes, utterly unable to quit her hold. Wylie unclasped her hands gently at last, and lifted her down, saying, in a commonplace, society voice which dried up her threatening tears, “I want to introduce my friend Armitage, Miss Smith. You have to thank him for getting you out, for he wasn’t suspected as I was.”
“Awfully glad to see you safe on firm ground,” said Armitage. “I’m afraid you’ll find things rather rough, but if you’ll kindly put up with it——”
“We should like to have brought a whole outfit, and a lady’s-maid, and all sorts of Eastern luxuries for you,” said Wylie, who was holding the ladder steady for Maurice to descend; “but we were afraid of rousing suspicion. As your sister—I mean Princess Eirene—isn’t here, may I say that you must think you are on active service?”
Zoe had been laughing rather nervously, but the question roused her to recollection. “Oh,” she cried, “have you brought me any note-books?”
“No, really, I’m afraid not,” said Wylie, dismayed. “Why?”
“Oh, I have been living the most splendid story all the time I have been in the monastery, and I wanted to write it down before I forget. I know it will all fade when I get with other people.”
Her tone spoke of such complete absorption in the story that Wylie was conscious of a jealous feeling that the absence of the note-books was not an unmixed misfortune.
“I’m awfully sorry,” he said hypocritically. “We’ll bring you cartloads of note-books as soon as we get to Th——”
An exclamation from Armitage broke into his sentence. Above, on the edge of the rocky platform, a high cap and a bearded face were momentarily outlined against the starry sky, and something shining caught the light. One side of the ladder seemed to drop, and the rungs hung drooping. Wylie felt for his revolver, but it was in Maurice’s sash as he clung half-way down the ladder, and before Armitage could thrust his into his hand, the remaining side-rope parted with a sound like the report of a gun, and Maurice seemed to fly outwards through the air. He came to the ground with a thud which drew an agonised shriek from Zoe, and Wylie scarcely doubted that he must be killed. He was unconscious when they reached him, but as they were anxiously feeling his limbs, he opened his eyes for a moment.