“All we want now is a rope and a grapnel.”
“I have a rope and a grapnel. Where? In my bed. What rope? Bell-rope partly, partly bed cording. How did I get it? By being mad. By picking everything to pieces with my fingers, as mad people will. They humoured me, and I secreted half the pieces while they carelessly removed the other. I have a long, strong rope; long enough to go up the wall and down the other side. I have also a grapnel.”
“That is fortunate. How did you make a grapnel?”
“I did not make it; the warder brought it to me. You wonder. But you noticed the crenelated wall: that is the secret. My grapnel is simply a very long, strong ruler, such as are used in keeping ledgers, and in some mechanical drawing; I had it ostensibly for drawing. This ruler must be tied across the rope; when the rope is flung over the wall, the ruler will catch across the crenelation. There is the grapnel. The rope at its lower end will be fastened to the upright pillar, or whatever the technical name may be, which divides my window into two. There’s the ladder.”
“And the swimming bladders?”
“I made them out of an old Macintosh, which I also tore up: I sewed them together. Mad people have whims: one of mine was to mend my own clothes; so I got needles and thread. They are also in my bed. They have simply to be inflated with air; they have cords to fasten to the body.”
“How clever! I should never have thought of such things. But why did you not escape before I came? You had all the materials required.”
“True—all the means; but not the physical strength, nor the physical courage. I could not do it without a companion to assist me. You forget my leg was broken; it is still weak. You forget that I have been confined without exercise for two years—enough to weaken any man; and I was never strong. I used to envy Odo as he climbed trees, like the wild man of the woods he is by nature. Besides, I wanted courage; don’t despise me. I have moral courage, but I have no physical courage. I jumped from the wall—yes; but under extreme excitement—this must be done coolly; and I could not climb the rope. You must climb first, and drag me up by sheer force.”
“I will do it somehow,” said Aymer. “But why not tie loops in the rope for your feet and hands? Is it long enough?”
“Plenty; I never thought of that. Two heads are better than one. I will do that this very night. How long do you think it will take you to recover yourself?”
“I will try it tomorrow,” said Aymer.
“No; that is too soon. Say the night after. We must go as early in the evening as is compatible with being unseen, so as to have the whole night to escape in. Now sleep. I shall not say another word.”
He withdrew, and Aymer vainly tried to slumber. He could not sleep till morning, and he did not wake till far into the day. His breakfast was waiting for him. As he sat down to it with a better appetite, Fulk spoke to him from the picture.
“You look better,” he said; “your long sleep has refreshed you. Shall we try it tonight? I own I am afraid lest some trifle should delay us.”
“Tonight, certainly,” said Aymer. “I feel quite well now. It was simply a heaviness—a drowsiness—a narcotic, perhaps. Let it be tonight. I must go to Violet.”
“Ah, Violet!” sighed Fulk. “That was my poor wife’s name too. I shall love your Violet. I will help you. I know more of the world than you do.”
The day passed slowly. They conversed in low tones nearly all the time. Aymer, led on by Fulk’s gentle ways, frankly told him all his struggles, his disappointments, his hopes. Fulk was deeply interested. At last he said—
“At ten we will do it, or perish. I have a mind,” he said, “to let you go alone; you are stronger than I am. Very likely my nervousness or weakness will spoil the whole enterprise; but you could do it certainly.”
“I will not hear of such a thing,” said Aymer; “I will not attempt it without you. Do you think I am a cur?”
The dusk fell gradually—so slowly that it tried Aymer’s patience terribly. Davidson lit the gas, and left him the evening paper.
“Glad to see you getting better, sir,” he said, civilly.
He withdrew, and nothing now remained between them and the task except the twilight. Aymer kept urging to commence. Fulk thought it was not dark enough. At half-past nine a cloud came over the sky.
“Now,” said Fulk; “I have got the rope ready. Take the picture down, and scramble through the hole. No; hand me your change of dress first. There is the rope.”
Aymer had no difficulty in getting through, and at once picked up the rope. At one end he found a heavy knob of coal fastened.
“That is to throw it up by,” said Fulk, “and to make the rope hang down the other side. I hid it for that purpose.”
Fulk put the window open, shading the gas by the blind. Aymer coiled up the rope on his left arm to let it run out easily; and was glad now of the physical education he had unwillingly imbibed at old Martin Brown’s. Many a time he had cast the cart-line over a tall wagon-load of straw. He looked out, measured the height, and hurled the knob of coal. It flew straight up into the air, carrying with it the destinies of two men, like a shot from a mortar over a ship in distress. A
