While the others were at work, I cautiously raised the window and peered through the shutters. The rain was falling briskly, and the wind still blew a gale. I thought I distinguished the dark figure of a man on guard within a few feet of the building, and my heart sank. “How many are in the parlor, Wilson?” I asked. Wilson applied his eye to the keyhole. “Can't see anybody but that one-eyed fellow, Broderick, but there might be more.” A flash of memory came to me, and I felt in my pocket for Mother Borton's mysterious scrawl. “Give that to a one-eyed man,” she had said. It was a forlorn hope, but worth the trying. “Hand this to Broderick,” I said, “as soon as you can do it without any one's seeing you.” Wilson did not like the task, but he took the envelope and silently brought the door ajar. His first investigations were evidently reassuring, for he soon had half his body outside. “He's got it,” he said on reappearing. A little later there was a gentle tap at the door, and the head of the one-eyed man was thrust in. “It's as much as my life's worth,” he whispered. “What do you want me to do?” “How many men are in the street below here?” “There's one; but more are in call.” “Well, I want him got out of the way.” “That's easy,” said Broderick, with a diabolical wink of his one eye. “I'll have him change places with me.” “Good! How many men are here?” “You don't need to know that. There's enough to bury you.” “Have Meeker and Terrill gone?” “Tom? He's in the next room here, and can count it a mercy of the saints if he gits out in a week. Meeker's gone with the old man. Well, I can't stay a-gabbin' any longer, or I'll be caught, and then the divil himsilf couldn't save me.” I shuddered at the thought of the “old man,” and the shadow of Doddridge Knapp weighed on my spirits. “Are you ready for an excursion, Fitzhugh?” I whispered. He nodded assent. “Well, we'll be out of here in a minute or two. Take that overcoat. I've got one. Now tie that blanket to the bedpost. No, it won't be long enough. You'll have to hold it for us, boys.” I heard the change of guards below, and, giving directions to Wainwright, with funds to settle our account with the house, I blew out the lamp, quietly swung open the shutter and leaned over the sill. “Hold on to the blanket, boys. Follow me, Fitz,” I whispered, and climbed out. The strain on my injured arm as I swung off gave me a burning pain, but I repressed the groan that came into my throat. I half-expected a bullet to bring me to the ground in a hurry, for I was not over-trustful of the good faith of Mother Borton's friend. But I got to the ground in safety, and was relieved when Fitzhugh stood beside me, and the improvised rope was drawn up. “Where now?” whispered Fitzhugh. “To the stable.” As we slipped along to the corner a man stepped out before us. “Don't shoot,” he said; “it's me,--Broderick. Tell Mother Borton I wouldn't have done it for anybody but her.”