XI

After Davidson was gone with the tray, Aymer could hear him opening other doors along the corridor, and waited till all was quiet.

“Fulk!”

“Aymer!”

The picture was lifted, and Fulk’s head appeared in the orifice.

“Remember,” he said, “your first object is to get strong; unless you get strong, neither of us can escape. Therefore, eat and drink, and above all, sleep. If you fidget yourself, you will waste away. The sooner you get strong, the sooner you will get out and find your Violet. Push your armchair up close under this picture, and speak low, lest a warder should steal along on tiptoe. Take a book in your hand as if reading.”

Aymer did as he was told. Fulk’s head receded. “It is difficult for me to keep long in that position,” he said; “I am not tall enough. But we can talk just as well.”

“How came that hole in the wall?” asked Aymer.

“How came your book published?” said Fulk. “By the same process⁠—patience and perseverance. No credit to me though. When a man is confined for two years in one room, he is glad enough of something to do.”

“Why did you make such a hole⁠—how did you do it? It was very clever.”

“It was very easy. The poker did a part, the steel to sharpen the dinner knife did another part!”

“But were they not afraid to leave such instruments in your room?”

“Not they. Theodore knows very well that I am not mad. He knows that I have too much mind to attempt suicide. As to the warders, they are strong, their clothes are impenetrable to an ordinary stab. Besides, I feign to be harmless, and at last worn out.”

“There is no poker in my room,” said Aymer, “and they have taken the knives away.”

“That is because, as yet, they do not know your temperament. They think they know mine. So far as conveniences, and even luxuries, are concerned, certainly Theodore does not treat me amiss. I have everything I could have if I were free⁠—papers, books⁠—everything but tools or liberty⁠—but I can improvise tools.”

“How is it they do not discover this hole in the wall?”

“Simply because on your side it is hidden by the picture, and behind the picture I have preserved the papering. On my side, it is hidden by a mirror; when I open the aperture, I unscrew the mirror.”

“But how did you know there was a picture on this side?”

“A person who was confined as you are told me.”

“Was he sane then? What became of him?”

“Don’t ask me. He was sane. It was a terrible disappointment when he went.”

“But did he not return to get you out?”

“You do not comprehend. He lies in the grave. It is my belief⁠—but I should alarm you.”

“They killed him?”

“Well, not so violent as that. He died⁠—that is it⁠—before our arrangements were complete.”

“Then you have tried to escape with others?”

“Yes, three times, and three times accident has baulked it. For that reason I wish you to get strong speedily, lest you should be removed to another room⁠—”

“Or the grave!”

“Let us talk on other subjects. You do not ask how the hole was made, nor why. I will tell you. In the first place, it was made because I had hopes of escaping through your room, which was then unoccupied, and the door left open. That was vain, for it was afterwards occupied; then the hole was enlarged to let me and one of your predecessors converse, and to let him get into my room, as you will have to do.”

“Why?”

“Because your window is a French one; mine has a bar or upright up the centre, which is an essential element of escape.”

“Go on⁠—how did you make the hole?”

“With the steel and with the poker⁠—grinding the bricks into dust, and mingling the dust with the ashes of the fire, so that the warder himself carried them away.”

“And why not escape this way?”

“Because, in the first place, the door of that room is kept locked; secondly, because it opens also into the same corridor, and at the end of that corridor is the guardroom, where there is always a warder. Your bell rings in that room.”

“How did you learn all these things?”

“How did you learn all the little traits of human nature, which the reviewers say you put in your book? By observation, of course. I had to walk along that corridor to reach the grounds, when I was allowed to go out.”

“But you could bore a hole into the corridor?”

“Yes, and the bits of broken plaster would tell the story⁠—that would be simple. Besides, to what end? Once I thought of boring under the corridor.”

“How do that?”

“By lifting up one of the planks of the floor here; there is a space between the flooring and the ceiling, and that corridor has a kind of tunnel along under it. What for? why the hot-water pipes, to warm the cells, are carried along it⁠—the cells of the violent, whose rooms have no fire-grates⁠—that is of no use, for the tunnel at one end comes to the furnaces, where there is usually a man, neither could I get through the heat. At the other there is the thick outer wall of stone, and just beneath is Theodore’s own room⁠—his ears are sharp. Useless, my friend. This knowledge of the premises seems to you wonderful, simply because you have been here so short a time. Why, I have never seen the outside of this side of the building, except a partial glimpse when I was brought, gagged and bound, in a closed carriage; yet look at this.”

He handed to Aymer a sheet of paper, on which was an elevation plan.

“I can’t see how you got at this,” said Aymer, beginning to have a high opinion of the other’s ability.

“It was difficult; but patience and observation will accomplish all things. I learnt much of the outline by the shadow on the ground. Here is another plan, more minute; this is a ground plan.”

Aymer examined it.

“Why, you have got even the locks and bolts of the doors,” he said, in admiration.

“Yes, I should have made a splendid burglar⁠—what a career lost!”

“But,” said Aymer, “I see here ‘water-canal’ marked. I have seen that canal; why, it runs just outside the high wall just across the courtyard here.”

“Ay, and that is the awkward part of it. First, a narrow courtyard or chasm to bridge; then a high wall to surmount; then a broad and deep canal⁠—especially broad here, for, as you will see on the plan, there is a double width of water for the barges to turn round in. Finally, an unknown maze of streets.”

“Not unknown,” said Aymer. “I can be of some use there;” and he told Fulk of his residence in Stirmingham during the family council and the election. He had a fair knowledge of the streets.

“That is extremely fortunate,” said Fulk. “You must trace out a plan for me, in case we should get separated. So you were at the family council⁠—I read much of it in the papers which they allow me. By the by, Marese Baskette is about to marry my cousin. I wonder she has escaped the asylum so long⁠—the common fate of us poor Lechesters. Tell me now about your Violet’s claim.”

Aymer did so.

Fulk mused a little while.

“I begin to see daylight,” he said. “I see much that I did not previously comprehend. If we only wait, and keep watching, everything comes plain in time. Waldron⁠—I knew the Waldrons well⁠—very respectable people, and well descended. Waldron is mentioned in Domesday⁠—Waleran Venator⁠—i.e., Walron, the Huntsman. Jason Waldron⁠—I wonder if I had better tell you what I know?⁠—he was murdered, and⁠—but you will not rest nor eat.”

“I shall certainly not eat or sleep unless you tell me.”

“Very well, but do keep calm; we shall be out all the sooner, unless indeed some unforeseen circumstance stops it, as it has hitherto done. Ay di me!”

“Do you know anything of Jason Waldron’s murder?” asked Aymer, impatiently.

“I do; you have yourself told me. I had my suspicions⁠—almost certainty⁠—before, but I could not see the motive; now I see the motive⁠—poor, miserable Odo!”

“Odo! what has Odo to do with it? Do go on; I am wild.”

“Very well. Odo Lechester murdered your friend Jason Waldron!”

“But Odo Lechester is in a lunatic asylum, incurable.”

“Odo Lechester was in this very asylum, but he escaped nearly a year ago. He escaped by permission.”

“I am in the dark⁠—explain.”

“By permission, directed to destroy Jason Waldron. He had homicidal tendencies, you know.”

“Homicidal tendencies!⁠—escaped! Stay a minute, let me think. I remember now. Oh! what a fool I have been. Why, I saw the description of him posted up against the police station in Stirmingham, during the election; it was partly destroyed⁠—evidently an old bill. I see⁠—I see. But why should Odo Lechester kill Jason?”

“He was instructed to do so. Your dear friend Theodore, who so kindly offered you a secretaryship at seven hundred and fifty pounds a year, told him to do so.”

“Why⁠—how⁠—how could he⁠—”

“Work on Odo’s mind? Easily enough. Poor Odo⁠—he is a beast, born in the shape of a man: it is not his fault⁠—he is not responsible. Odo is a tinker and a whistler; he is at home among the gypsies and the woods, playing on his tin whistle, mending pots and kettles. His three great passions are tinkering, dogs, and⁠—liberty. Theodore simply assured him that it was Waldron who was the cause of his confinement. Jason dead, Odo would be forever free. Shall I add one more word? If Jason’s daughter were also dead, Odo would be still safer in his freedom.”

“Good God! he may be killing her now. Let me out⁠—help me.”

“Silence! Be quiet. She is safe⁠—your cries will ruin all. She is safe in this very building.”

“Impossible⁠—I can’t believe it; it is all a blind. I must go to Belthrop; I must see Broughton. Good God, how weak I am!”

He fell exhausted back into his chair.

“How foolish of you!” said Fulk, gently. “But I can understand it. Now, I will tell you how I learnt all this. It was very simple. When I found that there was no escape through your room, I tried the other wall. I removed the clock from the bracket, and bored a small hole. Frequently I had to stop, because I heard voices. I found the next room to mine was one of Theodore’s own private apartments: it is the sitting-room, in fact. Beyond it is his laboratory. I should like to know what is in that laboratory: if we escape, I will know. He and Marese used to meet here and converse. I heard them; I listened. I tell you I heard things that would make your flesh creep. Are you better?”

“Yes; oh, that I was stronger! There is wine on the table. Do you think I might drink it safely?”

“Certainly not; but you had better pretend that you have. Pour some behind the grate; get rid of it somehow, or they will put the poison in your food. Well, I heard things about a certain ship, the Lucca.”

“The Lucca⁠—she was found a derelict.”

“Yes, I know; I could tell you how she became a derelict. But Odo. Well, I heard them discuss that plan. He was to be instructed, and then allowed to escape. He did escape. I only wish I was strong, and could climb like him. What he did, you know. If he is still at large, I will wager a hundred pounds I find him. I know his old haunts. But I could not understand the object of⁠—of⁠—I see now. Waldron was the descendant of Arthur Sibbold. Are you superstitious? No. Well, I am⁠—a little. In this case, now, does it not seem as if the blood of old Will Baskette, shot at the cider barrel, had revenged itself from generation to generation? Stirmingham was, as it were, founded with blood. Your poor friend Jason was a descendant of the murderer Sibbold, who shot the thief; and here is a Baskette continuing the vendetta.”

“For God’s sake, tell me how to escape.”

“I will. But is it not Fate? Look at the chain of events⁠—‘circumstances’ they are called now: the ancients called them Fate, Sophocles called them Necessity. But you are eager about escaping. Hush⁠—they are coming!”

The picture dropped; Aymer looked down at his book. Davidson entered, and asked him how he felt. He replied better, and asked if Miss Waldron was in the asylum?

Davidson smiled. “Still on that, sir? I tell you honestly that no such person is here.”

He looked Aymer in the face, and Aymer believed him. Davidson lit the gas, left several newspapers and books, and retired. So soon as his steps had died away, the picture was lifted again.

“I told you so,” said Aymer; “she is not here. He evidently spoke the truth.”

“He did so⁠—so far as he knew. But this is an immense building; and you forget⁠—you were not brought here at first⁠—there is a residence, as they call it, detached. Davidson’s duties never take him there, unless specially sent for.”

“Well, well; let me escape, that is all.”

“You have looked out of window; you have seen the courtyard⁠—the wall. You know that beyond the wall is the canal: all that is plain in your mind?”

“It is. First, we must get across the courtyard, then we must climb the wall, then descend and swim the canal.”

“Ah,” said Fulk, “I cannot swim.”

“I can,” said Aymer; “I learnt in the sea.” He remembered his few bright months of wandering before he had met Violet.

“I am glad of it, though I had provided for that. The bladders that would have supported you, can carry our dry clothes to change.”

“The bladders⁠—have you got some to float you?”

“I have; but, first of all, the courtyard and the wall. We must not descend into the courtyard, because at one end there is a window⁠—Theodore’s window⁠—and he is here now; at the other it opens on the grounds, and warders are sometimes about. It is the wall we must attack.”

“All we want now is a rope and a grapnel.”

“I have a rope and a grapnel. Where? In my bed. What rope? Bell-rope partly, partly bed cording. How did I get it? By being mad. By picking everything to pieces with my fingers, as mad people will. They humoured me, and I secreted half the pieces while they carelessly removed the other. I have a long, strong rope; long enough to go up the wall and down the other side. I have also a grapnel.”

“That is fortunate. How did you make a grapnel?”

“I did not make it; the warder brought it to me. You wonder. But you noticed the crenelated wall: that is the secret. My grapnel is simply a very long, strong ruler, such as are used in keeping ledgers, and in some mechanical drawing; I had it ostensibly for drawing. This ruler must be tied across the rope; when the rope is flung over the wall, the ruler will catch across the crenelation. There is the grapnel. The rope at its lower end will be fastened to the upright pillar, or whatever the technical name may be, which divides my window into two. There’s the ladder.”

“And the swimming bladders?”

“I made them out of an old Macintosh, which I also tore up: I sewed them together. Mad people have whims: one of mine was to mend my own clothes; so I got needles and thread. They are also in my bed. They have simply to be inflated with air; they have cords to fasten to the body.”

“How clever! I should never have thought of such things. But why did you not escape before I came? You had all the materials required.”

“True⁠—all the means; but not the physical strength, nor the physical courage. I could not do it without a companion to assist me. You forget my leg was broken; it is still weak. You forget that I have been confined without exercise for two years⁠—enough to weaken any man; and I was never strong. I used to envy Odo as he climbed trees, like the wild man of the woods he is by nature. Besides, I wanted courage; don’t despise me. I have moral courage, but I have no physical courage. I jumped from the wall⁠—yes; but under extreme excitement⁠—this must be done coolly; and I could not climb the rope. You must climb first, and drag me up by sheer force.”

“I will do it somehow,” said Aymer. “But why not tie loops in the rope for your feet and hands? Is it long enough?”

“Plenty; I never thought of that. Two heads are better than one. I will do that this very night. How long do you think it will take you to recover yourself?”

“I will try it tomorrow,” said Aymer.

“No; that is too soon. Say the night after. We must go as early in the evening as is compatible with being unseen, so as to have the whole night to escape in. Now sleep. I shall not say another word.”

He withdrew, and Aymer vainly tried to slumber. He could not sleep till morning, and he did not wake till far into the day. His breakfast was waiting for him. As he sat down to it with a better appetite, Fulk spoke to him from the picture.

“You look better,” he said; “your long sleep has refreshed you. Shall we try it tonight? I own I am afraid lest some trifle should delay us.”

“Tonight, certainly,” said Aymer. “I feel quite well now. It was simply a heaviness⁠—a drowsiness⁠—a narcotic, perhaps. Let it be tonight. I must go to Violet.”

“Ah, Violet!” sighed Fulk. “That was my poor wife’s name too. I shall love your Violet. I will help you. I know more of the world than you do.”

The day passed slowly. They conversed in low tones nearly all the time. Aymer, led on by Fulk’s gentle ways, frankly told him all his struggles, his disappointments, his hopes. Fulk was deeply interested. At last he said⁠—

“At ten we will do it, or perish. I have a mind,” he said, “to let you go alone; you are stronger than I am. Very likely my nervousness or weakness will spoil the whole enterprise; but you could do it certainly.”

“I will not hear of such a thing,” said Aymer; “I will not attempt it without you. Do you think I am a cur?”

The dusk fell gradually⁠—so slowly that it tried Aymer’s patience terribly. Davidson lit the gas, and left him the evening paper.

“Glad to see you getting better, sir,” he said, civilly.

He withdrew, and nothing now remained between them and the task except the twilight. Aymer kept urging to commence. Fulk thought it was not dark enough. At half-past nine a cloud came over the sky.

“Now,” said Fulk; “I have got the rope ready. Take the picture down, and scramble through the hole. No; hand me your change of dress first. There is the rope.”

Aymer had no difficulty in getting through, and at once picked up the rope. At one end he found a heavy knob of coal fastened.

“That is to throw it up by,” said Fulk, “and to make the rope hang down the other side. I hid it for that purpose.”

Fulk put the window open, shading the gas by the blind. Aymer coiled up the rope on his left arm to let it run out easily; and was glad now of the physical education he had unwillingly imbibed at old Martin Brown’s. Many a time he had cast the cart-line over a tall wagon-load of straw. He looked out, measured the height, and hurled the knob of coal. It flew straight up into the air, carrying with it the destinies of two men, like a shot from a mortar over a ship in distress. A moment of suspense⁠—it cleared the wall, the rope ran out quickly, till but a few feet were left in Aymer’s hands. Fulk opened the other half of the window; the rope was passed round the upright and secured. Next the air-belt had to be fastened under Fulk’s chest and inflated. Aymer tied his change of clothes and Fulk’s in the other air-belt, and adjusted them to his back. These incumbrances gave him some little uneasiness. He pulled at the rope⁠—it was firm; the ruler had caught the crenelations. Then arose the difficulty as to who should go first; Aymer, with a lurking suspicion lest Fulk’s heart should fail, compelled him to take the lead. He helped him at the window, and saw a new danger. Their shadows were projected on the wall opposite; if anyone looked that way it would be seen in an instant that something was going forward. Below on the right was a bow window, and from this bow window a stream of light fell upon the rope. However it was too late to hesitate. Fulk clung like a cat till he got his foot into the first loop, then he went up fairly well. As soon as he was up, and Aymer could see his form dimly astride of the wall, he followed. Halfway up, as he looked down, he saw a man in the bow window approach and draw down the blind. If he had looked out he must have seen the rope and Aymer, but he did not. When the blinds were down the rope became invisible. With a beating heart Aymer found himself at the top of the wall, astride, facing Fulk, who pressed his hand.

“I feel all right now we have started,” he whispered; “I think I shall manage it yet.”

There were no loops for the descent. Aymer, after one glance at the city lights before him, slid down first, and let himself into the water gently. He adjusted the load on his back on the float: then shook the line as a signal to Fulk, who came halfway down well, but his nervous excitement overcame him, and he rather fell than slid the remainder, reaching the water with a splash. His head did not go under, but they feared lest anyone had heard it. In a few seconds, as all was quiet, Aymer struck out, pushing the float in front and dragging Fulk behind. He had no load to support, but simply to force his way through the water. It was chilly, but not so cold as he had feared. It smelt unpleasant⁠—some chemical works discharged into it. Though a fairly good swimmer, Aymer had a hard struggle to cross the broad canal, and more than once paused to recover his strength. At last they landed on the towing path, and without a moment’s delay got over a low wall into some back garden and changed their clothes, wrapping the wet things round a loose brick from the wall and dropping them in the water. They then made haste along the towing path, Aymer leading, and emerged at a bridge into a broad thoroughfare, gaslit but deserted.

“Come on,” whispered Aymer. “There is the station; we shall catch the up 10:15 train to London.”

“Is that the station?” said Fulk. “Then here we part. Goodbye.”

“Part? What do you mean?”

“I mean this: that I owe you my liberty⁠—I shall repay you. I shall stay here and watch for your Violet⁠—I am sure she is here.”

It was useless arguing with him: Fulk was determined.

“I shall easily hide in this great city,” he said. “We shall be on the watch in two places at once⁠—you at Belthrop and World’s End, and I here. Make haste. By the by, can you lend me a pound or two? I have no money with me.”

Aymer insisted upon dividing the sixty-five pounds he had left. Then they shook hands.

“Stay,” said Fulk, “our rendezvous?⁠—Where shall we meet again? Quick!⁠—your train.”

“At The Place, World’s End,” said Aymer at a venture, and with one more rapid handshake ran off. He caught his train, and by one in the morning was in London.

Poor Fulk, wandering he hardly knew where on the look out for a quiet inn, came suddenly into a crowded street, and amidst a number of carriages evidently waiting. He looked up⁠—it was some theatre or other. There was a large poster announcing that the famous singer Mademoiselle F⁠⸺⁠o would perform that evening in the Sternhold Hall, and as he read, he heard a loud encore which reached even to the street.

“I remember her,” he thought. “I saw her at Vienna the year before I was captured. They said she was this Marese Baskette’s mistress⁠—a splendid creature. I’ve half a mind⁠—I haven’t heard a song for so long⁠—”

He hesitated. Prudence told him to go away; but talk of prudence to a man who has just escaped into liberty! He walked in; the performance was nearly over, but he paid and went into the pit. “After all,” he tried to persuade himself, “there’s more safety in a crowd. When I go out, I can take a cab and drive to an hotel and say I’ve lost my train through the theatre; that will account for my having no luggage.”

As he struggled in among the crowd, he glanced up at the boxes; his pushing caused a little movement, and people in the boxes looked down. He caught an eye watching him⁠—he turned pale. It was Theodore, who rose at once and left his box. Poor Fulk gasped for breath; he pushed to get out. The audience was annoyed at the movement and disturbance⁠—some gentlemen held him down⁠—the notes of the singer’s voice floated over, musically sweet. Poor Fulk!