Winter was on his knees, one arm over Jasper's shoulders, and shouting to the smith to get to work.
"We thought the scoundrel had roasted you, lad, for the house is on fire. Knock these bolts out of the floor, Jenner, knock 'em out—by glory. We have half our night's work to do yet."
The smith was hammering at the bolts that held the rings in the floor boards. Surgeon Stott had shut the door and was standing with his back to it. A man in Jasper Benham's condition does not yearn to be gaped at by grooms and ploughmen. In the gallery young Parsloe stood watching the door of the burning attic. He had a coil of rope over his arm so that they should have a means of escape if the fire broke through into the gallery before Jasper could be released.
"What has happened, Jeremy? Where's De Rothan?"
"Got away, lad; broken through our lines. We have been blockading the place."
"Nance——"
Jeremy's mouth hardened for action.
"That's it, lad, we have got to catch him and the girl before he gets afloat."
"She didn't go willingly, Jerry?"
"Tied up in a blanket, sir," said Stott from the door.