He swung himself up, and placing his knees against the round wall in front of him, and with his back against the other side, he slowly worked himself up the narrow shaft until he was some twelve feet up. By jamming his feet in a niche from which the mortar had fallen out, and with his back thrust against the opposite wall, he made himself secure for the moment. He heard the warder and the pony stumbling over the rubble which strewed the mouth of the ruined chimney; his heart was in his mouth. Pony and man were within the furnace, and the voice of the warder almost beneath him made Rupert look down in momentary expectation of meeting his upturned gaze; he saw his arm and shoulder already beneath the chimney—another moment he would be discovered. A voice outside hailed the warder, and he stepped back—and disappeared. For some little time Rupert heard the voice of men talking in the precincts of the powder mill. He strained his ears to try and hear what they said, but only caught odd words. He gathered that they were still searching both for him and Convict 303. He was relieved to know that his friend had not been caught; yet in his heart he realised it was only a matter of time. Once he reached home—if indeed he were lucky enough to succeed in doing so—he would only wait long enough to discover how things were with his father and sister, and to warn them that a fortune might still be lying within their grasp. He did not know how much of the little property had been mortgaged to Sir Reginald Crichton; he almost hoped the disused tin mine was included. As long as the interest was paid, the mortgage would remain undisturbed; and Sir Reginald had proved himself to be not only an upright gentleman, but a kind friend. It was his one-time friend, Robert Despard, the man who had called himself his pal, whom he feared. Almost the last words the latter had spoken to him echoed ironically in his brain: "I’ll keep the secret about our radium mine, old man, never fear. It’s safe with me!" Various schemes flashed with lightning-like rapidity through Rupert’s brain as he clung to his perilous position in the chimney above the furnace. He began to think that the men outside intended to remain there for the night—it seemed so long before they moved away, and he heard the beat of their ponies’ hoofs growing fainter and fainter. But at last he knew they were really gone. Even then he waited awhile before he commenced to painfully clamber to the ground. He was stiff and sore. His shoulder ached and throbbed where the stray buckshot had struck him. There was blood upon his hand, too, where he had cut it. But he was still free. At first he moved cautiously, examining the country as much as was visible in all directions. The fog had partially cleared away, but it still lay in patches here and there.