Anthony had
retired into the passage then, he told himself, as he found the space
empty. He climbed into the hole, pushed himself along and counted the
bricks--the fourth of the fourth--pressed it, and pushed at the door; and
it was fast.
For the first time a horrible spasm of terror seized him. Had he
forgotten? or was it all a mistake, and Anthony not there? He turned in
his place, put his shoulders against the door and his feet against the
woodwork of the stairs, and pushed steadily; there were one or two loud
creaks, and the door began to yield. Then he knew Anthony was there; a
rush of relief came into his heart--and he turned and whispered again.
"Anthony, dear lad, Anthony, open quickly; it is I."
The brickwork slid back and a hand touched his face out of the pitch
darkness of the tunnel.
"Who is it? Is it you?" came a whisper.
"It is I, yes. Thank God you are here. I feared----"
"How could I tell?" came the whisper again. "But what is the news? Are
you escaped?"
"No, I am a prisoner, and on parole. But there is no time for that. You
must escape--we have a plan--but there is not much time."
"Why should I not remain here?"
"They will search to-morrow--and--and this end of the tunnel is not so
well concealed as the other. They would find you. They suspect you are
here, and there are guards round this place."
There was a movement in the dark.
"Then why think----" began the whisper.
"No, no, we have a plan. Mary and Isabel approve.
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