Hammersley held his breath, straining his ears for the sound that would tell him that he had not failed. In a while, which seemed interminable, it began again, the slow crunch of gravel under a heavy foot--ceased, and began again, as though uncertainly, so he waited until the sounds were regular as before, then advancing his head cautiously, he waited for the proper time, and keeping the chimney between himself and the garden, ran straight up the roof to the gable and crouched quickly upon the other side. He was more fortunate this time for the roof gave forth no sound. Once beyond the protection of the gables he could for the moment disregard the danger of the guard, for his orders had been to watch but one window, and Hammersley knew enough of the German character to be sure that the soldier below would not leave that side of the house. As he slid carefully down the roof upon the other side, he saw that there were two dormers, and for a moment could not think which of them let into the room in which Doris was imprisoned. He reached the ledge and paused. The shutters of both windows were closed. Lindberg had told him this, but he swore mildly to himself because he hadn’t paid closer attention to the Forester’s instructions, for while one of the rooms was Doris’s, the other he knew was to be occupied by John Rizzio. It was while he hesitated that he heard a whisper at his left, and crawling along the ledge, in a moment had reached the window. “Is it you, Cyril?” he heard. “Yes,” he whispered. “Let me in.” Lindberg had opened the shutter in the afternoon, but it was still stubborn, and when Cyril put his strength to Doris’s, it creaked abominably. It was not really a loud noise, but to the sensitive ears of the fugitives it seemed as if discovery must be inevitable. At last they managed to open it wide enough to admit Cyril’s long legs and his body speedily followed. Inside the room they stood, their hands clasped, fearful of discovery, listening for sounds without or within which would tell them of the approach of the dreaded Wentz. Nothing but the sighing of the wind in the treetops and the patter of the rain. As hope returned, Hammersley questioned quickly: “You are ready to go?” “Yes,” she replied eagerly. “The sheets?” “Here. I have prepared.” It was dark and he could not see, but he followed the sheet to its end with his hand and found that it was fastened to the bedpost. How she had managed to move the heavy bed across the room he did not know, and it was unnecessary to question, for there it was. He reassured himself as to the knot that she had made and then fastened his own sheets to the other end. “Do you think you can manage it alone? It will not hold us both.” “Try me,” she whispered bravely. “The rope will reach almost to the kitchen roof.” “Yes, it is just below. I could see the edge of it through the shutter this afternoon.” He caught her in his arms and their lips met.