skipper. "'Tis time t' be off for Ruddy
Cove."

The window was low. With his crowbar Archie wrenched a bar from its
socket. It came with a great clatter. It made the boy's blood run cold
to hear the noise. He pried the second and it yielded. Down fell a
block of stone with a crash. While he was feeling for a purchase on
the third bar Skipper Bill caught his wrist.

"Hist, lad!"

It was a footfall in the corridor. Skipper Bill slipped into the
darkness by the door--vanished like a shadow. Archie dropped to the
ground. By what unhappy chance had Deschamps come upon this
visitation? Could it have been the silence of Skipper Bill? Archie
heard the cover of the grating drawn away from the peep-hole in the
door.

"He's gone!"

That was Deschamps' voice. Doubtless he had observed that two bars
were missing from the window. Archie heard the key slipped into the
lock and the door creak on its hinges. All the time he knew that
Skipper Bill was crouched in the shadow--poised for the spring. The
boy no longer thought of the predicament as a game. Nor was he
inclined to laugh again. This was the ugly reality once more come to
face him. There would be a fight in the cell. This he knew. And he
waited in terror of the issue.

There was a quick step--a crash--a quick-drawn breath--the noise of a
shock--a cry--a groan. Skipper Bill had kicked the door to and leaped
upon the jailer. Archie pried the third bar out and broke the fourth
with a blow. Then he squirmed through the window. Even in that dim
light--half the night light without--he could see that the struggle
was over. Skipper Bill had Deschamps by the throat with his great
right hand. He had the jailer's waist in his left arm as in a vise,
and was forcing his head back--back--back--until Archie thought the
Frenchman's spine would crack.

"Don't kill him!" Archie cried.

Skipper Bill had no intention of doing so; nor had Deschamps, the
wrestler, any idea of allowing his back to be broken.

"Don't kill him!" Archie begged again.

Deschamps was tugging at that right arm of iron--weakly, vainly
tugging to wrench it away from his throat. His eyes were starting
from their sockets, and his tongue protruded. Back went the
head--back--back! The arm was pitiless. Back--back! He was fordone. In
a moment his strength departed and he collapsed. He had not had time
to call for help, so quick had been Bill's hand. They bound his limp
body with the length of line Josiah had brought