Then there was a long silence, during which Coventry's blood ran cold.
As nothing further occurred, he whispered, "What is the matter?"
"My stomach fails me. Send me up a drop of brandy, will ye? Eh, man, but this is queer work."
"I can't get it up to you; you must drink it here. Come, think! It will be five years' penal servitude if you don't."
"Is the rope long enough?"
"Plenty for that."
Then there was another awful silence.
By-and-by a man's legs came dangling down, and Cole landed on the sill, still holding tight by the rope. He swung down on the sill, and slid into the room, perspiring and white with fear.
Coventry gave him some brandy directly,--Cole's trembling hand sent it flying down his throat, and the two men stared at each ether.
"Why, it is a gentleman!"
"Yes."
"And do you really mean to see me clear?"
"Drink a little more brandy, and recover yourself, and then I'll tell you."
When the man was fortified and ready for fresh exertions, Coventry told him he must try and slip out of the house at the front door: he would lend him a feather and some oil to apply to the bolts if necessary.
When the plan of operation was settled, Coventry asked him how long it would take him to get to Hillsborough.
"I can run it in two hours."
"Then if I give the alarm in an hour and a half, it won't hurt."
"Give me that start and you may send bloodhounds on my heels, they'll never catch me."
"Now take off your shoes."
While he was taking them off, Cole eyed his unexpected friend very keenly, and took stock of all his features.
When he was ready, Coventry opened his door very carefully, and placed a light so as to be of some use to the fugitive. Cole descended the stairs like a cat, and soon found the heavy bolts and drew them; then slipped out into the night, and away, with fleet foot and wondering heart, to Hillsborough.
Coventry put out his light and slipped into bed.
About four o'clock in the morning the whole house was alarmed with loud cries, followed by two pistol-shots: and all those who ran out of their bedrooms at all promptly, found Coventry in his nightgown and trowsers, with a smoking pistol in his hand, which he said he had discharged at a robber. The account he gave was, that he had been suddenly awakened by hearing his door shut, and found his window open; had slipped on his trowsers, got to his pistols, and run out just in time to see a man opening the great front door: had fired twice at him, and thought he must have hit him the second time.
On examining the window the rope was found dangling.
Instantly there was a rush to the strong-room.
The bird was flown.
"Ah!" said Coventry. "I felt there ought to be some one with him, but I didn't like to interfere."
George the groom and another were mounted on swift horses, and took the road to Hillsborough.
But Cole, with his start of a hundred minutes, was safe in a back slum before they got half way.
What puzzled the servants most was how Cole could have unscrewed the bar, and where he could have obtained the cord. And while they were twisting this matter every way in hot discussion, Coventry quaked, for he feared his little gunscrews would be discovered. But no, they were not in the room.
It was a great mystery; but Raby said they ought to have searched the man's body as well as his pockets.
He locked the cord up, however, and remarked it was a new one, and had probably been bought in Hillsborough. He would try and learn where.
At breakfast-time a bullet was found in the door. Coventry apologized.
"Your mistake was missing the man, not hitting the door," said Raby.
"One comfort, I tickled the fellow with small shot. It shall be slugs next time. All we can do now is to lay the matter before the police. I must go into Hillsborough, I suppose."
He went into Hillsborough accordingly, and told the chief constable the whole story, and deposited the piece of cord with him. He found that zealous officer already acquainted with the outline of the business, and on his mettle to discover the authors and agents of the outrage, if possible. And it occurred to his sagacity that there was at this moment a workman in Hillsborough, who must know many secrets of the Trades, and had now nothing to gain by concealing them.
