for
his own, and climb the rope ladder to the tower yonder?" Those around
hesitated. "Is there none brave enough to venture?" said the Baron,
after a pause of silence.

A stout, young fellow, of about eighteen years of age, stepped forward
and flung his flat leathern cap upon the ground. "I will go, my Lord
Baron," said he.

"Good," said the Baron, "the fifty marks are thine. And now listen, if
thou findest no one in the watch-tower, whistle thus; if the watchman
be at his post, see that thou makest all safe before thou givest the
signal. When all is ready the others will follow thee. And now go and
good luck go with thee."

The young fellow spat upon his hands and, seizing the ropes, began
slowly and carefully to mount the flimsy, shaking ladder. Those below
held it as tight as they were able, but nevertheless he swung backward
and forward and round and round as he climbed steadily upward. Once he
stopped upon the way, and those below saw him clutch the ladder close
to him as though dizzied by the height and the motion but he soon began
again, up, up, up like some great black spider. Presently he came out
from the black shadow below and into the white moonlight, and then his
shadow followed him step by step up the gray wall upon his way. At last
he reached the jutting beam, and there again he stopped for a moment
clutching tightly to it. The next he was upon the beam, dragging himself
toward the window of the bartizan just above. Slowly raising himself
upon his narrow foothold he peeped cautiously within. Those watching
him from be low saw him slip his hand softly to his side, and then place
something between his teeth. It was his dagger. Reaching up, he clutched
the window sill above him and, with a silent spring, seated himself
upon it. The next moment he disappeared within. A few seconds of silence
followed, then of sudden a sharp gurgling cry broke the stillness. There
was another pause of silence, then a faint shrill whistle sounded from
above.

"Who will go next?" said the Baron. It was Hans Schmidt who stepped
forward. Another followed the arch up the ladder, and another, and
another. Last of all went the Baron Henry himself, and nothing was left
but the rope ladder hanging from above, and swaying back and forth in
the wind.

That night Schwartz Carl had been bousing it over a pot of yellow wine
in the pantry with his old crony, Master Rudolph, the steward; and the
two, chatting and gossiping together, h