There it was just the same. After the turn, a couple of hundred yards' walk, and then the blowing wind, the sensation of space. The castle needed battlements on three sides only, for the fourth was impregnable; Nature in the shape of a precipitous drop to the river provided protection enough. "Well?" Arnold detected a grim note of interrogation in Wenzel's voice. "There seems no hope of admittance," he answered. "There has got to be. Do you think I am content to let the old man hang, and his daughter be violated?" "What can you do? If Grocz meant all he said at the station buffet, Imre Kiss will hang at twelve." "He was deadly serious, Arnold, else why the gallows?" He pointed to the castle roof where the men had been working, to notice that there was now no sign of them. The work was finished, the deadly instrument ready for its victim. "The swine!" In the intensity of his emotion Arnold hissed the word between set teeth. "And yet----?" There was no need for him to complete his unspoken question. The White Knight answered it after a slight pause. "Arnold, there is one way. I am going to scale the battlements." "Geoffrey--you can't! They must be twenty feet high or more and probably smooth as glass." "Yet I am going to try," and there was a finality in his voice which permitted of no opposition. Arnold, knowing that his leader would make the attempt, failed to see any prospect of success. If there had been but a modicum of light, a single gleam of illumination by which to see footholds, find weaknesses in the solid structure of which advantage might be taken, then, however hazardous and foolhardy the task might have seemed, there was at least a possibility of triumph. But in the present circumstances... The White Knight laughed slightly, and the next moment he was by the wall, his hands and feet feeling for the slightest crack, the smallest protuberance which would afford him a hold. The moss was thick in parts, and deceiving. It felt firm and secure, yet it needed little pressure to tear its roots from the stonework, and was a hindrance rather than a help, for pieces fell into Wenzel's face, and into his eyes. At last his groping fingers found a tiny indent where the mortar had crumbled away. Not deep enough for him to insert his finger-tips even as far as the first joint, yet he deemed it sufficient. He took a firm grip, and by sheer force lifted his tall body a few inches and pressed his toes against the wall, until one foot felt resistance beneath it. So he advanced the first step upward. Carefully he released his left hand. His weight pulled at the fingers of the other, but he tightened his muscles, and somehow he clung, supported by the toes of one foot. With his free hand he felt for another hold, and presently found one, scarcely better than the first, but good enough. He took hold, swung away, and, as before, pulled himself up till he could use both hands.