Soon they had to pass near a sentry, and a sharp challenge rang out. Roy’s heart leaped into his mouth, and Jean promptly replied with the password for the night. Veiled by the darkness, which was increased by a drizzling rain, they went by in safety.
The outer wall at length was gained—that same wall which the middies had reached in their attempted escape, though at a different part of it. Jean had chosen this mode of escape, not daring to take Roy under the eyes of sentries at the gates, where, despite his command of the password, the prisoner must almost inevitably have been found out.
In a quiet corner, where nobody was or seemed to be near, Jean drew down the end of a stout rope, already secured at the top of the wall, the loose end having been knotted up out of easy reach. This had been his doing after dark, before he went to Roy’s cell. With the help of the rope they made their way to the top, Roy first, Jean next, pulling it up after them, and lowering it on the other side. Then, together, they trusted their weight to it once more.
As they hung over the depth, Roy could not but recall the cold-blooded act of two or three weeks earlier and its dire consequences. If any man had obtained an inkling of Jean’s intentions, or had discovered the rope placed in readiness, the same tragedy might now be repeated on a smaller scale. One clear cut would do the business. He and Jean would fall heavily downward, and, in an instant, he too, like little Will, might be in that land where battles and dungeons and cruel separations are things of the past.
These thoughts came to Roy—unbidden—even while his whole attention was bent to the task of working himself, hand under hand, swiftly and noiselessly, down the rope. Already his hands were torn and strained, yet, under the excitement of the moment, he felt no pain.
The rope remained taut. There was no sudden yielding from above—no abrupt and helpless plunge earthward. He and Jean arrived in safety on firm ground.
Again Jean gripped his wrist.
“Now, M’sieu, hist!” he whispered; and as fast as might be, yet with extreme caution, avoiding even the sound of a footfall, they hurried away from that grim surrounding wall. Roy could not see in the darkness where they were, or whither they were going. He could only trust himself blindly to Jean’s guidance, and Jean seemed to be in no doubt. He never paused or faltered.
Running at full speed, then slackening for breath, running again, and halting anew, walking at a brisk swing, then breaking into a fresh race side by side, only to come to another short pause—so they passed the hours of that night. During the first twenty or thirty minutes extreme care was needful; and more than once Jean had to make use of the password, which he had somehow learnt. When once thoroughly away from Bitche, however, immediate discovery became less likely; and the chief aim then was to put as wide a space as possible between themselves and the fortress before morning. That was as much as Roy had in mind. Jean’s object was more definite, including arrival at a particular hiding-place within a given time; but at present he attempted no explanations.
So soon as Roy’s disappearance should become known, and the gendarmes should have started in pursuit, Roy’s danger—and, for the matter of that, Jean’s also—would be intensified a hundred-fold. At present they had a clear field, favoured by darkness and by the fact of a world mainly asleep.