A LEAP IN THE DARK
"What does it mean?" thought Frank, once more alone.
The German's orderly, it was clear, had signalled to him. Who was the
man? What message had he intended to convey? From whom was the message?
Frank had at first hardly noticed the man. Even when his attention was
attracted, he had observed the man's actions rather than the man
himself. He did not recognise him. The man was young; he wore the
ordinary uniform of the Turkish soldier; whether he was a pure Turk, or
an Armenian, or an Anatolian, or a member of any other of the races that
are represented in the Turkish army, Frank could not tell. Whoever he
was, the one plain fact was that he was a friend, and it was remarkable
enough that a friend should have appeared in company with Wonckhaus.
What did he mean by his stealthy manoeuvres with the watch? Frank
remembered how the man had glanced from the watch to the window. Did he
suggest a connection between them? Almost unconsciously Frank took out
his own watch and noted the time; then he replaced it in his pocket,
looking absent-mindedly at the window. And then an explanation flashed
upon him. The messenger, or his employer, knew English. He knew it well
enough to play upon words. "Watch the window!" That must be the
message.
Frank got up and paced the room.
"There's somebody working for me outside," he thought. "Very likely
Joseph. Though I never knew Joseph to make a pun. Still, he does know a
little English. But why should I watch the window?"
He stood beneath it, and looked at the small square frame, scarcely
larger than a ship's porthole. It might be just possible to squeeze
through it. Did his friend, whoever he was, intend that he should
escape that way? Would he find a ladder placed against the wall? Such
an escape would be possible only on some dark night, and what was the
good of watching the window in the dark? Besides, with soldiers in the
lower rooms, was it possible to place a ladder so silently as not to
arouse their attention? If it were possible, would not his movements be
seen at least by some prowling dog, whose barks would give the alarm?
Frank was puzzled. As he walked up and down, his head was constantly
turned towards the window; it seemed as though he dared not take his
eyes from it for a moment, lest in that moment he should miss the chance
of release. When night came, he threw himself on his bed, and lay for
hours wakeful, gazing in the one direction. No light was allowed him.
He looked up at the stars until they appeared to dance, and his eyes
ached with following their fantastic movements. That night he scarcely
slept. If he found himself dozing, he would rouse himself with a start,
and stare again at that spot in the wall which was only distinguishable
from the blank spaces about it by the winking stars.
Next day it was the same. Worn and nervous, whether he sat or walked,
even when Hussein brought him his meals, he stared at the window. The
Arab noticed the fixity of his gaze, and told the soldiers downstairs
that the Ingliz would soon go out of his mind. And indeed, when two
days and a night had passed, and nothing had appeared at the blank pane,
Frank himself felt that suspense and the strain of watching would drive
him mad.
On the night of the second day, just after dark, when Frank for the sake
of warmth was lying beneath the bedclothes, wakeful and hopeless, he was
suddenly startled by an unusual sound--a slight tapping, like the
flapping of a blind-cord against glass. His heart was thumping as he
sprang out of bed and ran to the window. It was too dark to see
anything, but there was unmistakably an object of some kind lightly
striking the glass at irregular intervals. Excited with expectation, he
mounted on the stool and reaching up for the fastening of the casement,
slowly and cautiously, to avoid noise, he undid the rusty latch, and
drew the casement inwards. The blast of inrushing air was bitterly
cold. He thrust out his hand, moving it from side to side, but felt
nothing.
At this moment he heard heavy footsteps clumping up the stairs that led
past his room to the roof. He closed the window, though the sound had
not surprised him: it was only the men going up to fetch the sheep which
were taken up every morning to graze on the turf-covered roof, and
brought down every night. He heard the footsteps coming down: then all
was silent again.
Shivering with cold, Frank had remained at the window. Would the signal
be repeated? It seemed hours before he again heard the flapping. Once
more he opened the window, and now his groping fingers touched a thin
cord hanging from above. He caught it and pulled it in eagerly.
Presently he grasped a stout rope attached to the cord. He drew in a few
feet of it, and then could draw no more. The rope was taut. On the
roof some ten feet above some one held or had fastened this rope for his
deliverance.
It was clear that the next move was with him. He was expected to emerge
through the window and climb up the rope to the roof. The window was so
high in the wall that he could only reach it by standing on the table.
Swiftly he moved this to the spot, wondering whether after all the
window was wide enough for his body. And when he stood on the table,
preparing to make the attempt, he paused with a sudden dread. Who were
these people outside? Were they indeed friends? Was it a trick on the
part of Wonckhaus, who had laid this trap for him, so that he might have
an excuse for removing an insecure prisoner to the common jail? But on
second thoughts he dismissed the suspicion. Wonckhaus had no need of
trickery if he wished to increase the rigour of Frank's imprisonment.
"I'll risk it," he murmured.
And now his difficulties began. Inside, the window had only a narrow
ledge; outside, it was flush with the wall: there was no sill. When
once he had got through, there was no possibility of returning; but to
get through--that was the problem. There was no secure foothold after
he left the table; the window was too low for him to stand upright on
the ledge, or even to sit on it. He would have to haul himself out by
main strength.
He placed his chair on the table, and standing on that, found that his
head was now higher than the top of the window. Then he stooped, put his
head out, braced himself for the effort, and taking a grip on the rope
as high above his head as he could, he lifted his feet and threw his
whole weight on it. For a moment it yielded slightly, but then became
taut again. Then he got his knees on the ledge, rested a few seconds,
grasped the rope a little higher, and managed to drag his legs out so
that he swung clear.
At this critical moment his energy was almost paralysed by the fear of
falling. The roof was only ten or twelve feet above him, and a few
months before he would have made light of swarming up a rope of double
that length. It was only now, when he was committed to the enterprise
beyond recall, that he realised how his strength had been reduced by
privation and want of exercise. But exerting his will to the utmost, he
began to haul himself up hand over hand. Bits of earth struck him, and
thudded on the ground below. The fear that the sound would bring the
soldiers out made him try to climb faster; but finding his strength
failing, he twisted his leg round the rope and steadied himself for a
further effort. More material fell from above, and struck the ground
with a heavier thud. Sounds from the lower floor warned him that the
men's attention had been aroused, and he climbed on, ascending by slow
and painful inches. In spite of himself he was forced to rest again,
but the support his legs gained from the rope was not sufficient to
relieve the strain on his arms, and he had almost given himself up for
lost when he felt the rope being slowly drawn up. Too weak to climb
further, he could only grip the rope and ascend passively, bumping
against the wall and scoring his knuckles.
Below him there were voices, of which he was hardly conscious, so
intense was the strain. Then there was a flash upward from an electric
torch, and a shout. He felt that his grip was loosening; he was at the
point of despair when his wrist was grasped from above. The touch
braced him for a final effort; his other wrist was gripped, and next
moment he was dragged by main force over the low parapet on to the roof,
just as a shot rang out.
[Illustration: AT THE POINT OF DESPAIR]
Half fainting, he was hauled to his feet, and half carried, half dragged
across the turf towards the hillside sloping behind. Up this his
rescuers stumbled with him until they reached a narrow track beyond
Wonckhaus's house. They heard shouts on the roof they had just left,
from the ground below, dogs barking, sounds of growing commotion. The
darkness concealed them; their flight was favoured by the clamour. On
and on they stumbled, the two rescuers finding their way like cats in
the darkness. The shouts became fainter. They moderated their pace, and
in a few minutes came to an open doorway. Into this they dived. The
door closed silently behind them, and Frank sank in the swoon of
exhaustion.