Sabatoff’s eyes opened wide. “You are thinking of a regular official removal?” he ejaculated. “Of a removal that will appear so regular and official that it will deceive every one for a few hours.” “You mean that you propose to walk calmly into the Fortress, calmly request the prisoners, and then calmly walk out with them?” “As calmly as I can.” “But there is not one chance in a hundred that the plan will succeed!” “Perhaps not. But that hundredth chance is the only chance!” “It’s either the idea of a madman--or a genius!” Sabatoff’s face caught the excited blaze of Drexel’s. “Yes, it’s the only chance!” he cried, and he held out his hand. “And who knows--we may succeed!” For a moment they silently gripped hands upon the dangerous adventure; then their tongues fell busy about details. Would the governor of the prison accept the forged order without suspicion, and act upon it? Perhaps not; indeed, most likely not, for Colonel Kavelin was reputed an ideal jailer, shrewd, watchful, versed in the thousand tricks of caged people who long and scheme for liberty. But that he should not was one of the risks. An escort would be necessary to act as guard to the prisoners, but the escort would be an easy matter. Sabatoff would provide the men, and there were secret stores of uniforms prepared for use in just such exigencies as this. It was decided that Drexel should lead the adventure alone; not that Sabatoff lacked courage, but he lacked what was equally requisite in a daring venture like this, coolness and readiness of wit in a crisis. At the last they had a moment of vivid dismay. Drexel, with his broken speech, could never pass as a Russian officer. But a second thought disposed of this difficulty. There were plenty of French officers in the Russian service, and they mutilated the native tongue quite as atrociously as he. He would be a Frenchman. It was now eleven. Sabatoff hastened away to arrange for the escort, leaving Drexel with nothing to do but watch the clock hands. Twelve o’clock came--one. How time strode irresistibly on! Only three more hours! Suppose something had happened to Sabatoff--arrest, perhaps--and he should not return? But presently Drexel heard a key in the outer door, then light footsteps, and then Sabatoff entered the library. “There was difficulty about collecting the men at so late an hour,” he whispered. “But all is well.” He handed Drexel a bundle. “By the time you get into that uniform I’ll have everything in readiness.” While Drexel was changing from civilian to gendarme officer, Sabatoff first wrote out the forged order, then took up the telephone on his desk and called a number. “Is this Peter and Paul?” he asked after a moment. “Yes.” “I want to speak to the governor.” There was another silence. “Is this Governor Kavelin?” “Yes.”