"No chance of rushing that when the jailer comes in," he said shortly. "Never mind, the chimney's good enough for me." The bread was now divided up, and they fell to hungrily. Then, when his wound had been dressed, Phil and his friends lay down. Fortunately for the former, the bayonet had made a clean thrust through the muscles, and though he suffered some pain, and was stiff, the wound was too slight to incommode him greatly. The following morning, just as dawn was breaking, Phil slipped off his coat, climbed up the chimney, and slid down into the other cell, where he found McNeil sleeping soundly. He was shocked at the poor fellow's appearance. He was greatly emaciated and intensely pallid. Phil woke him gently. "Hush, keep quiet!" he said. "Here I am, come to have a chat with you." McNeil sat up with difficulty. "Ah, Western!" he cried, grasping Phil by both hands, while his lips quivered, "yours is the first friendly grasp I have felt since I was taken prisoner. So you are now a subaltern, and have been taken prisoner for the second time? How did you escape? I sent a letter to say how gallantly you and your friend fought by my side for the flag." "Yes, and it reached the camp safely," said Phil, "and I was promoted to sergeant, and my friend to corporal. But I will tell you all about it later. Now let me know about this brute Stackanoff." "Ah, he is a brute! See here, Western! He has refused me the help and advice of a doctor, and my wound daily gets worse and cripples me." Phil looked at it, and going to a basin in the corner of the cell, filled it with water and returned. "I'll set you right in a minute," he said. "I was for a little while in the cholera hospital, and know a little about wounds too." Some linen lay at hand, and with this he cleaned the wound and dressed it carefully. "Thank you, Western!" said McNeil gratefully. "You are my good Samaritan. Now what about this escape? I can just limp along, and shall be ready at any moment." "The door is out of the question," Phil replied thoughtfully. "It is too strong to break, and a guard accompanies the jailer. Then the windows are too small and too high up, while the floor is impossible. The only way is up the chimney." "Good heavens! up the chimney?" "Yes; listen! Our cells communicate by slanting flues, and above the junction rises a brick chimney, which is amply wide enough for our bodies. At present it has bars across it, but my friend--who, by the way, is now my servant--will help me to remove them. Fortunately, a shot has cut the chimney off short, and I noticed before coming in that the drop from the top to the roof is not very great." "And what do you intend doing once you get out?" asked the wounded officer. "Remember you are in the fortifications, and the Russians are as thick as peas all round."