HOW PRINCE ROEL GOT FREE
Little doubt remaining in the minds of the three men as to the identity
of the masked prisoner, it had been agreed that a determined attempt
to release him should be made that night. Accordingly, in pursuance of
a carefully devised plan, they set out together after dark, and making
their way to Rozsnyo climbed the wall, and crawled along the roof until
they reached the barred skylight. As they approached they saw that the
light, without which their plan would have been frustrated, was there,
and when they came to the grating and looked down, the figure of the
masked man was sitting at the table reading. So absorbed did he seem
in his book that for some time a tapping on the glass failed to rouse
his attention. At length, however, he looked up with a start, listened
eagerly, they could tell that, but whether in fear or joy the hideous
mask effectually concealed. Without delay the three above began to
unscrew the bolts of the bars with tools they had brought with them.
This was effected without difficulty, and three of the bars displaced.
The more serious obstacle now was the glass; the only way to remove
this was by breaking it. This was a business which required great care,
and took what, to their impatience, seemed a long time, but at length
a large piece was broken out, leaving an aperture large enough for the
passage of a man.
With the removal of the glass it was at last possible to hold
communication with the prisoner.
“Roel!” D’Alquen called, in a loud whisper.
The masked one threw out his hands in an impatient gesture.
“Ah!” he cried, in a voice trembling with excitement, “it is you, Abele
D’Alquen, or am I dreaming? Heaven be thanked! You have come to release
me.”
“If we can manage it,” his kinsman returned. “At least, if we do not my
life shall pay for our failure.”
“Ah, you have others with you?” the Prince exclaimed.
“Yes; two friends who have been working for your release.”
“Thanks, thanks,” he cried, and the fervour of his tone contrasted
oddly with the hideous stolidity of the mask. “You are good fellows to
save a man from torture worse than death.”
A hurried consultation was held and a plan decided upon. As the height
of the room made escape by the skylight practically impossible, at
least by such means as they could command, another and far more daring
method of rescue had been hit upon. And this they now proceeded to put
into execution. By the aid of the long stout strap D’Alquen was lowered
into the room. At once after a quick hand-shake he began with a file to
cut through the steel fastening of the mask. To impatient men it was a
long operation, but at last the irksome covering was loose, and Prince
Roel could pull it off with an action of eager relief. As he did so,
the two, watching from above, saw D’Alquen start back with a look and
an exclamation of horror. The face which was disclosed was, it seemed,
almost that of a corpse. It was deadly pale, even livid, wasted and
shrunken; the eyes in their great blue sockets blazed with a feverish
light; it had never been a handsome face; now, in the tale it told of
the unutterable torture of a living death, it was absolutely appalling.
“Poor wretch!” Galabin exclaimed involuntarily, averting his eyes. But
there was no time for comment. After that one gasp of horror D’Alquen,
according to their pre-arranged plan, took the mask and fitted it to
his own head, then he changed coats with the Prince, telling him the
while the details of their scheme. The exchange of attire having been
made, D’Alquen hastily removed the traces of the broken glass, and took
his seat at the table in the prisoner’s usual attitude of reading. At
the same time the Prince took his station behind the curtains near
the door. The positions were assumed only just in time; indeed, the
disturbed curtain was still moving when the door opened, and the man
who acted as gaoler came in. For an instant, until he had satisfied
himself of his prisoner’s whereabouts, he did not leave the door; then,
closing it, he crossed the room with a surly nod to the mask. For the
watchers it was an anxious moment, but the man’s casual glance, though
keen enough, did not seem to detect any difference in the man who sat
by the lamp, and indeed there was not much to be seen. The figures of
the two men were not very dissimilar, and although D’Alquen was taller
than his kinsman, this was not observable as he sat leaning over his
book.
The gaoler had a flask of wine in his hand, and this he set down upon
the table. D’Alquen had raised his head, and the two men above could
tell that he was watching the fellow, who now crossed to the screen by
the concealed window, and examined it as though to see whether it had
been tampered with. It was impossible to tell what made him do so, but
suddenly the man looked up, and saw the great hole in the skylight.
Simultaneously D’Alquen rose with the word “Now!” and swiftly moved to
the door, before which he took his stand, covering the gaoler with a
pistol. Before the astonished man could quite realize the situation,
Prince Roel had slipped from his hiding place and out of the door,
which D’Alquen shut and held, pistol in hand.
“If you call out or move I’ll shoot you dead,” was his warning to the
gaoler, and the last view that Von Tressen and Galabin had of the scene
was the sturdy ruffian standing paralyzed before the gleaming weapon
with an ugly grin of discomfiture on his face.
For no time was to be lost, now that the first step in the rescue was
safely accomplished, in being ready to help the Prince through its
other and more perilous stages. So Von Tressen and Galabin, seeing all
had gone well so far, made their way with all haste down from the roof
and round to the door leading from the chapel, which in the plan they
had worked out seemed the shortest and least hazardous way from the
prison-room to open air and liberty.