“It must have been mere fancy,” said Tristram. “All is as we left it.”
“It seems so, certes,” replied Fenwolf doubtfully. “But I will make sure.”
While he placed his ear to the door, Mabel gave a signal to Tristram that she was safe. Persuaded that he heard some sound in the chamber, Fenwolf nodded to Tristram that all was right, and resumed his seat.
In less than ten minutes he was again asleep. Mabel then emerged from her concealment, and cautiously approached Tristram, who feigned, also, to slumber. As she approached him, he rose noiselessly to his feet.
“The plan has succeeded,” he said in a low tone. “It was I who spoiled the lock. But come with me. I will lead you out of the cavern.”
“Not without Sir Thomas Wyat,” she replied; “I will not leave him here.”
“You will only expose yourself to risk, and fail to deliver him,” rejoined Tristram. “Fenwolf has the key of his cell. Nay, if you are determined upon it, I will not hinder you. But you must find your own way out, for I shall not assist Sir Thomas Wyat.”
Motioning him to silence, Mabel crept slowly, and on the points of her feet, towards Fenwolf.
The key was in his girdle. Leaning over him, she suddenly and dexterously plucked it forth.
At the very moment she possessed herself of it, Fenwolf stirred, and she dived down, and concealed herself beneath the table. Fenwolf, who had been only slightly disturbed, looked up, and seeing Tristram in his former position, which he had resumed when Mabel commenced her task, again disposed himself to slumber.