The realisation that he was a prisoner aroused in Carey Grey a spirit
of revolt. He thought that he had calculated the cost. He had foreseen
that his confession would bring about complications, and had counted on
perhaps a long and trying investigation, but he had not imagined that
he would be deprived of his liberty pending the question’s settlement.
The fact that he had been honest should of itself, he argued, have
entitled him to consideration; but his frankness had been misjudged and
his candour rewarded with punishment.
Smarting under the indignity, he wrote a witheringly sarcastic note
to Count von Ritter, and demanded that the guard should see to its
expeditious delivery. At the end of an hour he received a brief reply:
“The Chancellor,” it read, “regrets deeply that he is unable to aid
Mr. Grey. The Chancellor repeated his interview of the early evening to
His Highness, the Prince Regent, and it is by His Highness’s command
that the present temporary restraint exists.”
Thereupon Grey set about devising some means of escape; but the barred
windows and the armed guard, which, he learned from Johann, was not
alone at his door but on the landings above and below and surrounding
the Tower as well, were seemingly insurmountable obstacles. He thought
of bribery, and as an entering wedge endeavoured to have a note taken
to Miss Van Tuyl, offering a sum of money out of all proportion to the
service, but the offer was phlegmatically declined.
It was very late before he threw himself upon the great high bed in the
dingy bedchamber and tried to snatch a few hours’ sleep; and he was up
again at dawn. But if his slumber had been brief, Johann’s had even
been briefer. He had spent hours in conversation with the soldier in
the passage, and he had gathered at least one fact of interest, if not
of importance--there were other prisoners on the floor above. How many,
he was unable to learn, and of the strength of the guard he was also
uninformed. There would be a change, though, at seven o’clock, and then
it would be possible to ascertain.
From the window of the library which was over the Tower door the
approach of the relief and the departure of the night watch could be
seen. The bars were too close to permit of a head being thrust between
them, but the barracks were at some distance from the Palace, and the
route, Johann said, lay diagonally across the uppermost terrace in
full view of this particular window. There Grey watched, and promptly
at seven, as the bell in the Bell Tower on another corner of the
quadrangle clanged the hour, a cornet sounded and seven armed infantry
men came marching over the stone pavement. That, he concluded, meant
one man on each of the three landings and four men on guard below. Not
counting the guard on the floor above, there were six against two,
and escape under these conditions appeared hopeless. If, however, the
prisoners on the floor above could be communicated with and a plan
of concerted action agreed upon there might be a fighting chance of
success. But the question was, how to reach them. The ceilings were
high and the floors thick, and to invent and execute a code of signals
by rapping would be a tedious and not at all promising undertaking.
Nevertheless Grey was more than half inclined to try it. By piling one
piece of furniture on another the ceiling could be reached readily
enough, and by giving each letter of the alphabet its number it would
be possible to hammer out words. Those above might not be able to hear
or, hearing, might not be clever enough to understand, but the American
was desperate, and, notwithstanding the odds against him, he determined
after some little consideration to make the effort.
Upon a large table in the centre of the _salon_ he and Johann lifted a
smaller one which they brought from the library, and upon this in turn
they placed a chair. To the top of this edifice Grey climbed, armed
with a heavy walking-stick, with which he began a series of regular
and irregular blows upon the heavy oaken panelling which ceiled the
room. Having continued this for something like three minutes without
intermission, he paused in the hope of some response. But none was
forthcoming, and he repeated the signalling with increased vigour. When
he halted again there was a distinct reply--an exact reproduction, in
fact, of his rhythm--and the serious, anxious expression he had worn
gave way to one of relief, if not indeed of triumph.
His next move was to repeat in strokes the entire alphabet, beginning
with one for A, two for B, and so on. This was a long and rather
laborious operation, but when he had finished he was given the
prompt gratification of an alert understanding from those above,
for immediately taking the cue, the answering thuds spelled out the
word “window,” and turning his glance in the direction of the barred
casement he saw hanging there, at the end of an improvised string made
of torn and tied strips of linen, a fluttering piece of paper.
With a single bound he reached the floor, and the next instant he was
reading with eager interest the pencilled words:
“Write what you wish to say, attach it, pull gently twice, and we will
raise it.”
“Johann,” he cried, enthusiastically, “see this! If those fellows have
as much nerve as they have wit we’ll soon be out of here, all right.”
And while Johann read and smiled his approval Grey sat down and wrote.
For an hour or more questions and answers, propositions and
suggestions, went back and forth from floor to floor by means of this
novel line of communication, and by the end of that time a complete
scheme of escape with all its details had been arranged and was
mutually understood.
There were two prisoners above--a gentleman and his man; just as
there were two prisoners below--a gentleman and his man. Who the two
gentlemen were was not asked by either. That they were guarded in
the Flag Tower was proof that their offences were political merely.
Nevertheless, the two gentlemen resented the indignity put upon them,
and both were anxious to escape. The two men were loyal to their
masters and could be depended upon to act with valour. The gentleman
above was unarmed, but the gentleman below had a revolver. The time
agreed upon for the delivery was two o’clock in the morning. As that
hour sounded from the Bell Tower the guards on their respective
floors were to be called in on some pretext, overpowered and stripped
of their uniforms, which would be donned by the two gentlemen. Their
weapons would be appropriated, likewise, and thus disguised and armed
it would be comparatively easy to make captive the guard on the first
landing. There would then remain but the four soldiers outside the
Tower, and the chances of their subduing were largely in favour of the
prisoners, three of whom would by this time be as well equipped as
the watch, while the fourth would have Grey’s revolver. The advantage
is invariably with the surprising party, and the plan was to take the
guardsmen unawares and effect their capture before they were even
conscious of attack.
All this having been definitely decided on there was nothing to do but
wait, and the hours, for Grey at least, dragged interminably. Again and
again at intervals he rehearsed the plan with Johann, so that there
could be no possible chance of error, but this after a while grew
monotonous and he looked about for something interesting to read. The
books he found in the library, however, were not diverting. They were
for the most part historical and written in the heaviest of German;
nevertheless their very ponderousness was in a way an advantage. They
provoked somnolence, and late in the afternoon the uninterested reader
fell asleep and was so snugly wrapped in slumber when his dinner was
brought in that Johann found it a rather difficult task to rouse him.
He had slept but little the night before, and his rest on the train the
night previous to that had been broken and fitful. His nerves needed
just this repose, and when he finally awakened it was with a clearer
eye and a steadier hand. He ate heartily of the distinctively Teutonic
dishes that were provided, and when he finished he remarked to Johann
on his general fitness, indulging in an Americanism which the valet
vainly tried to interpret.
“I feel tonight, Johann,” he said, stretching himself with arms
extended and fists doubled, “that I could lick my weight in wildcats
and paint whole townships red.”
As the hours wore away he sat with one leg thrown over the arm of his
chair, smoking placidly and with evident enjoyment. It was not until
some time after the Bell Tower had bellowed its single note that Grey
alluded to the business of the night.
“Everything is ready, is it, Johann?” he asked; “where are the thongs
you made from the sheet?”
“Safe in my coat pockets, your Highness,” the youth answered.
“Now you may bring me my revolver,” the American continued; “it is on
the cheffonier in my dressing-room.”
The revolver was brought, and Grey examined its chambers once again
to make sure that it was fully loaded. Then, throwing the end of his
cigar through an open window, he lighted a cigarette and continued in
desultory talk with his valet.
A few minutes before two he rose and went into his dressing-room,
which separated the _salon_ from the bedchamber. In the latter candles
were alight, but the dressing-room was in darkness. He stepped behind
the curtains, close to the wall, and stood there, silent, hidden, and
shortly from the Bell Tower solemnly sounded the hour. Simultaneously
Johann tried the door which gave from the little library on to the
landing. But it was locked and bolted from without. Then he hammered
loudly, a little excitedly; and very promptly the bolt was drawn and
the key turned.
“Quick!” he cried to the guard, who swung open the heavy oaken
planking. “Quick! His Royal Highness is ill! I fear that he is
dying! Come!” And he started off hurriedly, the soldier following
unsuspectingly.
In a second the little comedy was played. At the entrance to the
dressing-room Johann stepped back and the guardsman went in ahead, to
find his arms caught in a flash from behind by Grey and held hard and
fast in spite of his struggles, while Johann slung about his wrists
the heavy linen thongs and knotted them with deft and muscular hands.
Meanwhile the fellow was kicking and stamping viciously, but, barring
a barked shin for Johann and a bruised toe for Grey, the effects were
not material. And, once his arms were bound and the glittering barrel
of the revolver brought to his attention, his rebellion ceased. Then
Johann bound his feet as well, having first marched him into the
bedchamber and compelled him, protesting, to stretch himself upon the
high, old-fashioned bed.
Grey was in the act of unbuckling the captive’s belt when a pistol
shot, muffled but unmistakable, echoed from overhead, and he stopped,
breathless, just as a hoarse shriek split the silence which for an
instant followed the report. The door from the library to the landing
had been left open, and from that direction now came a scuffle of feet
on stone, mingled with a succession of crashing, thumping, jolting
noises, alarmed shouts and angry imprecations.
Through the three connecting rooms Grey dashed, revolver in hand and
with Johann close at his heels. The lantern the guard had left on the
landing had been knocked over and was out, but by the light from the
open doorway they at once discovered the huddled, distorted body of
a man, whose groans added to the bedlam of hurrying feet and excited
voices from below and oaths, cries, and sounds of struggle from above.
And as they looked there came bounding down the stairs, by jumps of
a half-dozen or more steps at a time, another figure, followed by
futile shot after shot from rapidly belching revolver and rifle. The
fugitive’s feet landed on the groaning, doubled heap on the landing,
and that he did not stumble to his death was a miracle. But he kept
his balance, flashed by down the next winding flight, and, striking
the first of the ascending guards, toppled him backwards against his
followers.
For the space of a heart-beat Grey and Johann paused, staring at each
other. In that instant of his passing both had recognised the fleeing
prisoner. It was Captain Lindenwald.
And then, as they stood inert, the guard from above, his rifle still
smoking, reached the landing, tripped over the crumpled body and went
staggering, lurching, clutching at the air, towards the confusion below.
The moment for action had now come; and Grey, calm and collected in
spite of the flurry of events, motioning to Johann to follow, ran
swiftly down the stone stairs, which, once they were out of the meagre
glow from the library, grew dark as Erebus. The struggling, swearing,
wriggling mass blocked the way at the next landing, but Grey and
the lad, guided by the sounds, were not taken unawares. They were,
moreover, for the moment on their feet, which no one of the others
was; and though they were caught by desperate hands and more than once
dragged to their knees, their clothing torn and ripped, their hands
scratched, and their arms and legs wellnigh disjointed, they kept their
wits and gained the last flight of steps without serious injury.
Down this they veritably hurled themselves, and with no further
impediment to delay them reached the open door of the Tower and dashed
out onto the stone flagging of the upper terrace, into the brilliant
starlight of the early morning.
“So far, so good,” said Grey, inhaling deeply of the cool, clear air;
and catching Johann’s sleeve he pulled him back into the shadow of the
buttress. “But,” he added, “we are not free yet, are we? The gates of
the Palace Gardens are locked at night, I suppose.”
“Yes, your Royal Highness,” the youth answered.
“Never mind that Royal Highness business now, Johann,” he directed;
“Herr Arndt will do for the present. I’m no more a Royal Highness than
you are.”
“Yes, Herr Arndt,” acquiesced Johann, imperturbably, without change of
tone, “and the walls are very high.”
“Nevertheless, we had better move on in the direction of some exit,”
Grey advised, in a whisper; “it won’t do to stop here. They may come
rushing down on us at any minute. You know the way; you lead.”
Johann started off to the right, hugging the Tower walls, and Grey
followed. At a distance of fifty yards they came to a clump of
shrubbery, into which the younger man plunged with Grey still close
behind. Through this a gravelled path led into a wood, under the trees
of which they walked in silence for at least a quarter of an hour,
their course one of gradual descent.
“Without our hats we’ll be suspicious figures in the streets of
Kürschdorf,” Grey observed, despondently, as they came out upon a
driveway, “and our recapture is certain. After all, I don’t see that we
have gained a very great deal. The gates won’t be open till morning,
and by that time, if we are not captured inside, every exit will be
guarded against us. Are the walls too high to scale?”
“Yes, Herr Arndt,” answered Johann, respectfully, but he did not
slacken his pace.
“What do you propose, then? Come, now, this is serious. You know every
inch of ground here, don’t you? Is there no way we can get out?”
“Yes, Herr Arndt,” came the stereotyped answer.
“There is? Then why didn’t you say so? How? In God’s name, Johann, how?”
The youth halted and turned.
“At the head gardener’s is a long ladder,” he answered; “we are going
to the head gardener’s, Herr Arndt.”
At the head gardener’s they very shortly arrived. Johann’s familiarity
with the place was now more than ever evident. Without hesitation
he entered one of the larger greenhouses, the door of which stood
invitingly ajar, and, though it was quite dark within, he very promptly
laid his hand upon a ladder which lay stretched against the wall to
the right of the entrance. Having thus assured himself that it was in
its usual place, he groped to the left and from a row of pegs there
secured two hats; one of green felt and the other of dark straw, soiled
and dilapidated, it is true, but in the present strait of the fugitives
of inestimable value.
The high wall of the garden was, it subsequently developed, but a
stone’s throw distant, and the work of carrying and placing the ladder,
climbing to the coping and springing over onto the border of soft turf
without was a matter of a very few minutes.
“And now,” said Grey, as with the faded and stained green hat upon his
head he stood looking up and down the dark, silent street, “where are
we to go? Our presence at a hotel would simply invite detection. It is
too early for me to call on the American Minister. All of your usual
haunts will be searched before sunrise.”
“The sister of the Fräulein von Altdorf,” suggested Johann, “to whom
the Fräulein herself was going, lives in the country, about two miles
away.”
“You know where?” cried Grey, delightedly; “you can find it?”
“I know it well,” answered the youth; “at the next farm I was born,
Herr Arndt.”
“Then we will go there, by all means.”
And they set off walking rapidly through the narrow side streets of the
old town to the bridge of Charlemagne, and thence across the river, and
on through the wider avenue of the new city out into the silent lanes
of the sweet-scented suburbs.
Both were busy with their thoughts and neither was inclined to
conversation. After twenty minutes’ trudging, however, Grey asked:
“Do you suppose that fellow on the landing will die, Johann?”
“That fellow?” repeated the valet, “which, Herr Arndt? Do you mean
Lutz?”
“Lutz!” exclaimed Grey, surprisedly, “was Lutz there?”
“Of a certainty, Herr Arndt. Did you not see his face? It was Lutz who
lay outside our door.”