Jack placed his hand on the side of the chimney from which a thin smoke was coming. There was so little heat in the bricks that he guessed the fire below had been allowed to die down. His guess was confirmed when he put his hand in the air over the mouth of the chimney: it was scarcely warm. He resolved to climb down and find out whither the chimney led. Thin as it was, the smoke in the narrow space was rather suffocating, and he felt a certain dread lest he should cough and betray his presence. There seemed no end to the chimney, as step by step he let himself down, moving with extreme caution to avoid making any sound that could be heard below. As he approached the bottom he was relieved to find that the heat did not perceptibly increase. The fire must be almost dead. He was dislodging soot from the walls; would it be seen by the persons in the room? Perhaps if they saw it they would think it due to the strong wind. Perhaps there was nobody in the room. He heard no voices, no sound of movement, though he saw there was a light. The chimney was a good deal wider at the point he had reached, and he wondered if it led to the kitchen. Waiting a little to make sure that the room was unoccupied, he at length ventured to slip down to the grate and peep into the room. It was empty of people. A large table stood in the middle; kitchen utensils hung from pegs on the walls; the door was ajar, and he now heard voices, proceeding evidently from an adjoining room. On the hearth was a long iron poker. "That may prove useful," he thought; and leaping lightly down he seized it. A large chopper hung to a nail at the side of the chimney. This also he secured. Then creeping to the door, he peeped round from the level of the floor. Three men were seated at a table enjoying their supper. This was apparently the cook’s room. The men were very much at their ease. A large fire of logs threw a glow upon their faces; a bottle of wine had been emptied; the smell of fried onions teased Jack’s appetite. He listened to the men’s conversation. "_Monsieur le capitaine_ will bring two guests to supper," said one. "_Peste!_" growled a second, the fattest of all, by whom, as Jack now saw, a cook’s white cap lay, "he will keep us up late. _Monsieur le capitaine_ is so particular. A supper fit for Bonaparte is not good enough for him. The kitchen fire will have to be made up. Go and see to it, Jules." The man addressed scraped his plate and drank his wine before lazily rising to do the cook’s bidding. Jack flew back with the speed of a hare, and before the man had pushed back his chair the adventurer was several feet up the chimney, grasping his precious spoil, the poker and the chopper. *CHAPTER XI* *A BREAK FOR FREEDOM*