At length there came the yowl of a cat from somewhere on the river. Captain Tucker leaped to his feet (for we had been sitting on the edge of the bed while we waited), exclaiming in a suppressed whisper:
“What did I tell you, Master Dunn? He is almost here.”
Again the yowl sounded nearer, and as though the animal was floating on the tide down by the jail. Then it came the third time directly under our window-sill.
My companion had already drawn the coil of rope from his bosom, and was making one end fast to a piece of the iron grating. Placing this across the narrow aperture, he threw out the cord, and turned to me, saying:
“All is ready, Master Dunn, and you shall go first. Tell Captain Allen, however, that I’m right behind you.”
“Nay, sir,” I remonstrated, “you should go first, as the plan is yours and—” but I did not finish.
“I am in command here,” he interrupted with an authority I could not dispute, “and you are to go now.”
With the words he lifted me in his brawny arms and thrust me feet foremost through the opening. I caught the rope in my hands and in another moment was gliding swiftly down it. The distance was not so great as I had expected, and it seemed but an instant before stout hands seized me and set me gently down in the boat.
“You are not Captain Tucker,” a voice then whispered in my ear.
“No,” I admitted in the same low tone, “I am Arthur Dunn, a fellow prisoner whom Captain Tucker insisted should come down first. He is right behind me.”