"We are in the Patron's private office, where he used to lock himself in," she whispered. "They've taken out the desk and chairs. His bedroom is next; mine is the next beyond that."
He looked anxiously toward the window and saw tree tops and glimpses of rolling country sparkling in the lilac-tinted haze of approaching twilight.
"Where does that window face?" he whispered, softly.
"On the garden and river."
"How far a drop is it?"
"Too far, _mon ami_. The stone terrace is below."
"Is it thirty feet?"
"I don't know. The roof and chimneys are above us. We are in the top story of the house."
"There are only two stories above the cellar, as I remember."
"Two, yes."
Still holding himself and her flat against the wall, he turned his head cautiously from side to side, searching the empty room. There was absolutely nothing there except bare floor and walls, and, in the fireplace, a huge iron grate weighted with cannel coal.
Outside, from the two corridors the firing had ceased; but he could distinguish the low vibration of heavy voices, carefully subdued, catch the sound of stealthy movements on the carpeted floor close to both doors. Lifting his pistol he fired through one door, wheeled, and fired through the other. When the deafening racket in the room had ceased, he bent toward her and whispered:
"Philippa, will you obey me?"
"Yes, mon ami."
"Flatten yourself closer against the wall and don't stir."
The girl spread out both arms, palms against the wall, and shrank closer against it with her slim body.
Warner dropped cautiously to the floor, crept across it, dragging himself by his hands, grasped the sill of the window, drew his head up with infinite precaution, and looked out and finally down.
Below lay the flagstones and potted flowers of the garden terrace, not more than twenty-five feet, he thought. Beyond these, the grass sloped down to the Recollette, where rowboats still floated under the trees.
Reconnoitering, he could not discover a soul in sight, and, satisfied, he crept back to where Philippa stood.
As he looked up at her, a faint smile touched the girl's bruised lips, and her steady grey eyes seemed to say: "_Me voici, mon ami, toujours a vos ordres!_"
"We must try to leave by the window," he whispered. "Both doors are guarded. And this man means murder--for you, anyway----"
"Yes.... It does not matter much now.... Since I have seen you again."
"You dear child--you dear, brave little thing!"
"Oh, _mon ami_--if you truly are content with me----"
"Little comrade, you have been very wonderful and very true! Halkett has recovered his papers.... Can you imagine how I felt when that murderous brute struck you!"
"It was nothing--I don't care, now----" She looked at his face, extended one finger along the wall, and touched his arm, trying to smile with her disfigured lips.
He looked at her very intently for a moment, unsmiling. Then:
"Little comrade! Listen attentively."
"Yes, Warner."
"It's too far for us to drop. It is twenty feet, anyway, and probably more. You would break your legs on the stones.... How many of your clothes can you spare to make a rope?"
"My--_clothing_?"
"Yes. You see there is not a thing in this room, not even a shred of carpet. I can spare my coat, waistcoat, shirt, tie, two handkerchiefs, collar, belt--and both shoe laces. I have a heavy, sharp pocketknife with a four-inch blade, which will cut cloth into strips. Help me all you can, Philippa. We shall need every inch of cloth and linen we can spare.... And I think we had better hurry about it, because I don't know what they are planning to do outside those two doors."
She hesitated an instant, then:
"If you wish it.... Will you please turn your head?"
"Of course, you dear child! What can you spare?"
"I can spare my chemisette and underskirt and petticoat, and my velvet hairband and my shoe laces.... And a handkerchief and my stockings.... It leaves me my red velvet bodice, which I can lace tightly, my red velvet skirt, and my shoes.... Will it be enough to give you?"
"I hope so; we must try." He turned, stripped to his undershirt and trousers, opened the long-bladed knife, and began to cut out strips from the materials.
Presently she was ready to contribute to the projected rope, and together they ventured to seat themselves noiselessly at the base of the wall and begin serious work on the business before them.
The sound of linen or of cotton being ripped would certainly have set on the alert the men outside and directed a murderously inclined gentleman or two to the garden.
So they parted the stuffs with every precaution to avoid any noise, using the knife constantly, and easing the various fabrics apart little by little.
Warner was confident that Wildresse, knowing the utter nakedness of the room in which they were locked, and knowing that death or broken bones must result from a drop into the terrace flowerpots, was not concerning himself to guard that quarter. Working steadily, easing, parting, picking out or cutting threads, ripping and tearing with greatest caution, the growing dusk in the room began to impede their operations. But he dared not use his electric torch, lest they be seen from outside.
Already the girl's slender fingers were flying as she picked up strip after strip of fabric and twisted them into the quadruple braid, bending closer over her task as the light became dimmer and dimmer.
Her bare feet in her laceless shoes were extended and crossed in front of her; the slender neck and shoulders and arms were exquisite in the delicate loveliness of immaturity; she worked swiftly, intensely absorbed, unconscious, unembarrassed in her preoccupation.
Now and then she lifted the braided cord and, stretching it, tested it with all her youthful strength. Once she handed it to him and he threw his full strength into the test, nodded, passed it back to her, and went on with his cutting and ripping.
Before the cord was finished, a tremendous crash shook the door on the left; and Warner, seated flat on the floor, fired two shots through the panels.
Then they both went on with their cutting, ripping, knotting, and braiding. The fumes from the cartridges set them coughing, but the smoke filtered out of the open window very soon.
It was dark when the cord was ready--some eighteen feet of it, as far as Warner could judge by measuring it across his outstretched arms.
Everything was in it except his leather belt, and this he buckled around Philippa's body.
There seemed to be no way he could test the cord except, inch by inch, using main strength; and, looking at the slender girl beside him, he concluded that it was going to hold her anyway.
The only light left in the room came from the stars; by this he crept across to the fireplace, lifted the heavy, iron grate with difficulty, set it at the foot of the window, fastened one end of the cord to it, turned and beckoned to Philippa.
She came creeping through the dusk on hands and knees; he pushed the pistol into one hip pocket, the electric torch into the other, fastened the rope to his leather belt which she wore, motioned her to mount the sill.
"But--_you_?" she whispered.
"Listen! I shall follow. If _I_ fall, try to find Halkett in the square and tell him."
"Warner--I am afraid!"
"I won't let you fall----"
"For _you_, I mean!"
"Don't be afraid. I could almost drop it without any cord to help me. Now! Are you ready?"
"If you wish it."
"Then sit this way--there! Now, turn and take hold of the sill with both hands--_that_ way! ... Now, you may let go----"
Her full weight on the cord frightened him; he braced his knees and paid out the rope which crushed and threatened to cut his hands in two.
Down, down into the dusk below he lowered her; his arms and back and ribs seemed turned to steel, so terrible was the fear that he might let her drop.
There remained yet a coil or two of rope when the cord in his staggering hands suddenly slackened. A shaft of fright pierced him; he bent shakily over the sill and looked down. She had not fallen; she stood on the terrace, unknotting the rope from her leather belt.
A moment later he drew it up, the belt dangling at the end. With trembling and benumbed hands he tested the knot tied to the grate; then, twisting the cord around both hands, he let himself over the sill, clung there, and lowered the window, hesitated, let his full weight hang, heard the iron grate drag and catch, then, blindly, twisting the cord around his left leg, he let himself down foot by foot, believing every moment that the cord would part or that the iron grate would be dragged up and over the sill, carry away the sash, and crush him.
And the next instant his feet touched the stone flagging and he turned to find Philippa at his side.
"Be silent," she breathed close to his ear. "A boat has just landed."
"Where?"
"At the foot of the garden. Two men are getting out!"
He knew that the rope would be discovered; he seized it and tried to break it loose. It held as though it had been woven of wire.
"There is a way into the cellar," whispered Philippa. "Can you lift this grating? It is only a drop of a foot or two!"