e
courtyard, but no civilian ever entered it, and twelve French
soldiers watched every movement of those in the yard, and did not
permit a single word to be exchanged.

Another week passed, and Ryan began to fear that his friends
outside had abandoned the scheme as impossible, when one day he
received another message:

"Do not undress tonight. On reaching the courtyard, take the first
passage to the right. Follow it to the end. The bars of the window
there have been nearly sawn through. Inclosed with this is a saw.
Finish the work on the middle bars. You will find a cord hanging
down outside. Friends will be awaiting you."

With the note was a very fine steel saw, coiled round and round,
and a tiny phial of oil. Ryan gave a cry of delight as he read it;
and then hid the saw and the oil bottle in his bed, made up the
tiny note into a pellet, and swallowed it. As he ate his dinner, he
pondered over how so much could have been managed. The courtyard of
the prison was, he knew, some ten feet higher than the ground
outside. Some one must, after nightfall, have climbed up to the
passage window and sawn the bars almost asunder, with a saw as fine
as the one he had received. The cuts could hardly have been
perceptible, and had probably been filled in with dust or black
lead, each night, after the work was done. The difficulty must have
been great, for he had learned that sentries patrolled the street
outside the prison, and the work could only have been carried on
for two or three minutes at a time. How he was to get down to the
courtyard he knew not, but probably a sentry had been found more
amenable to a bribe than the old sergeant had been.

To his bitter disappointment the night passed without anything
unusual taking place, and the scheme had evidently failed. He broke
up his loaf eagerly the next morning; and found, as he expected,
another message:

"Authorities suspicions. Sentries changed. Must wait till vigilance
subsides. Keep yourself in readiness."

A fortnight passed; and then, in the middle of the night, he leapt
suddenly from the bed on which he had thrown himself, without
undressing, as he heard the key grating in the door. For a minute
or two the sound continued, and his heart sank again.

"They have got a key, but it won't fit," he muttered.

Suddenly he heard the bolt shoot back, and the door quietly opened.

"Are you ready?" a voice asked in a whisper.

"Quite ready."

"Then follow me."

Rya