“No fear of that,” answered Tom. “Remember that my father was a doctor, and that I have some knowledge of drugs. I have made this man my study for weeks. If my calculations are correct, he will sleep for about three hours, not longer—and won’t there be a hullabaloo when he awakes!”
“But assuming that we get safely out of the prison—what then? Where am I to go? How am I to get rid of this cursed disguise?” said Lionel.
“You are to go home to the wife of your bosom. Everything has been thought of—everything provided for your safety. And now for the attempt. Don’t forget that you are Jabez Creede. Take the bag and follow me at a respectful distance. Pull your hat over your brows and turn up the collar of your overcoat, and, above all things, don’t seem to be in a hurry.”
Tom gave a final glance round the cell to see that everything was in order, turned the gas partially down, and then tapped at the door. A warder came in answer to the summons, and unlocked the door. Tom and Lionel stepped out into the corridor. The warder gave a glance into the cell, and saw, as he thought, his prisoner lying on his pallet with his face turned to the wall, as he had seen him lying many a time before.
“Tired out, poor fellow,” whispered Tom in the warder’s ear as the latter proceeded to relock the door. “But I’ve brought him good news, and I warrant he’ll sleep as sound as a top to-night.’
“Anyhow he’ll know his fate by this time to-morrow,” said the warder.
They followed the man along the corridor and through two or three passages, till they reached the outer courtyard. Here they were joined by two other warders. Tom, all this time, had been talking volubly, and making ample use of his big pocket-handkerchief—doing his best, in fact, to keep his companion from being overmuch noticed. But now had come the most dangerous moment of all. They were all crowded together close to the outer gate, waiting for it to be unfastened—the three warders, Tom, and Lionel—under the light of a flaring gas-lamp. The slightest hesitation—the least want of presence of mind—might have been fatal to everything.
Happily, Tom was equal to the occasion. While waiting for the bolts to be withdrawn, his thumb and finger slid into his waistcoat pocket, and the quick ears of the warders caught the pleasant chink of gold.
“Mr. Dering,” said Tom, “would insist on my presenting you gentlemen with ten sovereigns to divide amongst you, as a slight token of his appreciation of your unvarying kindness. Here’s the money; and I hope you won’t forget to drink Mr. Dering’s health before you are many hours older.”
He pressed the gold into the hands of the nearest warder. The men’s thoughts at once became occupied with the consideration of a fair and equal division of the gift. A moment later the door stood wide open. Tom, followed by Lionel, passed slowly out.