The prison door was locked. The gaoler gone.
Thus our Saturday half-holiday!
Angel and I threw ourselves, face downward, on the bed. Not so The Seraph.
Folding his arms, which were almost too short to fold, he stood before the
single window, gazing through its grimy glass at the brick wall opposite,
as though determined to find something cheerful in the outlook.
Aeons passed.
Familiar faces began to leer at me from the pattern in the wall-paper.
Angel was despondently counting out his money on the counter-pane, and
trying to make three half-pennys and a penny with a hole through it, look
like affluence.
Suddenly there came a rattling of hard particles on the pane. As we stared
at each other in surprise, another volley followed. It was a signal, and no
mistake! Already The Seraph was tapping the window in response. A moment of
violent exertion passed before we could get it open. Then, thrusting out
our heads we discovered Simon standing in the passage below, his upturned
face wearing an anxious grin.
"Thought I'd never get you," he whispered hoarsely. "I saw the Dragon go
out, so I fired a handful of gravel at every window in turn. Come on out."
"We can't. We're locked in!" we chorused dismally.
"I'll try to catch you if you jump," he suggested. "I would break the fall,
anyway."
But the way looked long, and Simon very small.