Montague leaned over the sill. He could see a stream of light from the window below him. Rodney was standing upon the cornice at the top of the window.
“Lower,” said Montague, as he drew in his head, and once more Bates paid out.
“Now,” he whispered, and Montague looked again. Rodney had cleverly pushed himself by the corner of the cornice, and kept himself at one side of the window, so that he would not be visible from the inside of the room. He made a frantic signal with his hand, and Montague drew back and whispered, “Lower!”
The next time he looked out, Rodney was standing upon the sill of the window, leaning to one side.
“Now, make fast,” muttered Bates. And while he held the rope, Montague took it and wound it again around the bureau, and then carried it over and made it fast to the leg of the bath-tub.
“I guess that will hold all right,” said Bates; and he went to the window and picked up the ball of cord, the other end of which was tied around Rodney's wrist.
“This is for signals,” he said. “Morse telegraph.”
“Good heavens!” gasped Montague. “You didn't leave much to chance.”
“Couldn't afford to,” said Bates. “Keep still!”
Montague saw that the hand which held the cord was being jerked.