ars. Rayner and Oliver agreed that it would be wise to descend while
the fiddle was going.

"Let me go first," said Brown. "I am the heaviest, and if it bears me,
it will bear any of you."

Tom said nothing. His modesty or something else prevented him from
putting himself forward when any danger was to be encountered.

Rayner himself had intended to descend first, but the rest of the party
begged him to let some one else go, and at last Oliver led the way.

Judging by the still louder scraping of Le Duc's fiddle, he must have
suspected what they were about. Oliver could hear the notes coming
round from the other side of the building. All, however, below him was
silence and darkness. He could not judge, as he looked down, whether he
was to alight on hard or soft ground, whether into a ditch or stream, or
whether they should have a fence to climb. His chief fear was that some
of the dogs allowed to go loose in every country house might discover
him and his companions before they could effect their escape.

All this passed through his mind as he was letting himself down the
rope, to which he clung with arms and feet as a sailor only can cling
with security. He soon reached the bottom. The ground appeared to be
firm, and was, as far as he could judge, perfectly level. The tower
threw a dark shadow, in which he stood listening for any sounds which
might indicate danger. It had been agreed, even should one or two of
the gendarmes come round, to spring upon them, seize their arms, and gag
them. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he pulled out his
handkerchief, ready for the latter object. Presently another came down.
It was Brown, the best man to tackle an enemy, as his muscular strength
was equal to any two of the rest. No enemy appeared, however, and at
length Rayner, who came last, reached the bottom in safety.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

TRAVELLING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

They waited and waited. Le Duc kept fiddling away with as much
vehemence as at first. But they could not ascertain whether their
guards were still dancing--the scraping of the fiddle-strings drowning
all other sounds.

At length the music became slower and slower, until only a low, moaning
wail reached their ears. It was of a remarkably somniferous
character,--the cunning Le Duc had evidently some object in playing
thus. Presently the music ceased altogether. Not a sound was heard,
except the soughing of the wind round the t