I know now that his reason was to prevent my giving an alarm; but I thought then that it was because he took pity on me. And I joyfully accepted his offer, although I couldn’t imagine how he was to manage it, and I made a remark to that effect. “Easy enough,” he said. “You have only a lock on your door, while there’s a dozen bolts on mine. That’s why I dug through, expecting to find the cell empty. However, it is all right. Take off your shoes.” I did so, and then my companion put out the lights, having first opened the door with what looked like a piece of wire. Then he whispered to me to keep hold of his sleeve, step cautiously and not let my shoes fall, and then we moved out into the corridor, now black as Egypt. My guide also seemed to be in his stocking feet; but where his shoes were I couldn’t imagine. We moved along slowly, but steadily, my guide seeming to know the way, and presently he opened a door with only a slight creak, and then whispered in my ear: “We are in the lodge. Don’t breathe.” Again we moved on and again stopped, and from one or two sharp clicks I judged him to be trying to open another door. Suddenly he drew me forward. I felt a rush of cold air, and the next instant I was out of jail. “Wait!” said my companion. And he closed the wicket gate, and locked it noiselessly. “If they find the gate open, they’ll smell a rat,” he remarked. “Now then, my boy, come on.” CHAPTER XIV. I BECOME A WANDERER AND FALL INTO LUCK. I kept closely by his side, and for half an hour we moved along, keeping in the shadow of the houses, until we reached the outskirts of the town. “Now then,” said my companion, speaking for the first time, “put on your shoes.” I did so, and very glad I was to do it. At the same time he reached down and drew off his stockings, and then I saw they had been drawn on over his boots. Then he took my hand, and we walked along steadily and swiftly for an hour, until the lights of Lancaster had faded in the distance, and not until then did my companion fall into a walk and conversation. “What did you say you were in for?” he asked. “For nothing,” I answered, promptly. This seemed to amuse him greatly. “Of course not,” said he, after an outburst of laughter. “I never saw a prisoner in my life who wasn’t innocent!” I attempted to explain, but he wouldn’t listen. “No matter--it’s not my business. It was forgery with me--ten years at the least; and I couldn’t stand that, you know.” “Certainly not,” said I, not knowing what else to say. Then, by way of turning the conversation, I inquired how he came to be provided with tools to effect his escape. He looked at me suspiciously for a moment, as if he suspected me of some hidden motive in asking the question, and then, apparently satisfied with the scrutiny, he informed me that his friends had sent him pies every day for two weeks past. “Pies?” I exclaimed, in open-mouthed wonder.