The Girl Philippa
using the knife constantly, and easing the various fabrics apart little
by little.
Warner was confident that Wildresse, knowing the utter nakedness of the
room in which they were locked, and knowing that death or broken bones
must result from a drop into the terrace flowerpots, was not concerning
himself to guard that quarter. Working steadily, easing, parting,
picking out or cutting threads, ripping and tearing with greatest
caution, the growing dusk in the room began to impede their operations.
But he dared not use his electric torch, lest they be seen from outside.
Already the girl's slender fingers were flying as she picked up strip
after strip of fabric and twisted them into the quadruple braid, bending
closer over her task as the light became dimmer and dimmer.
Her bare feet in her laceless shoes were extended and crossed in front
of her; the slender neck and shoulders and arms were exquisite in the
delicate loveliness of immaturity; she worked swiftly, intensely
absorbed, unconscious, unembarrassed in her preoccupation.
Now and then she lifted the braided cord and, stretching it, tested it
with all her youthful strength. Once she handed it to him and he threw
his full strength into the test, nodded, passed it back to her, and went
on with his cutting and ripping.
Before the cord was finished, a tremendous crash shook the door on the
left; and Warner, seated flat on the floor, fired two shots through the
panels.
Then they both went on with their cutting, ripping, knotting, and
braiding. The fumes from the cartridges set them coughing, but the
smoke filtered out of the open window very soon.
It was dark when the cord was ready--some eighteen feet of it, as far as
Warner could judge by measuring it across his outstretched arms.
Everything was in it except his leather belt, and this he buckled around
Philippa's body.
There seemed to be no way he could test the cord except, inch by inch,
using main strength; and, looking at the slender girl beside him, he
concluded that it was going to hold her anyway.
The only light left in the room came from the stars; by this he crept
across to the fireplace, lifted the heavy, iron grate with difficulty,
set it at the foot of the window, fastened one end of the cord to it,
turned and beckoned to Philippa.
She came creeping through the dusk on hands and knees; he pushed the
pistol into one hip pocket, the electric torch into the other, fastened
the rope to his leather belt which she wore, motioned her to mount the
sill.
"But--_you_?" she whispered.
"Listen! I shall follow. If _I_ fall, try to find Halkett in the
square and tell him."
"Warner--I am afraid!"
"I won't let you fall----"
"For _you_, I mean!"
"Don't be afraid. I could almost drop it without any cord to help me.
Now! Are you ready?"
"If you wish it."
"Then sit this way--there! Now, turn and take hold of the sill with
both hands--_that_ way! ... Now, you may let go----"
Her full weight on the cord frightened him; he braced his knees and paid
out the rope which crushed and threatened to cut his hands in two.
Down, down into the dusk below he lowered her; his arms and back and
ribs seemed turned to steel, so terrible was the fear that he might let
her drop.
There remained yet a coil or two of rope when the cord in his staggering
hands suddenly slackened. A shaft of fright pierced him; he bent
shakily over the sill and looked down. She had not fallen; she stood on
the terrace, unknotting the rope from her leather belt.
A moment later he drew it up, the belt dangling at the end. With
trembling and benumbed hands he tested the knot tied to the grate; then,
twisting the cord around both hands, he let himself over the sill, clung
there, and lowered the window, hesitated, let his full weight hang,
heard the iron grate drag and catch, then, blindly, twisting the cord
around his left leg, he let himself down foot by foot, believing every
moment that the cord would part or that the iron grate would be dragged
up and over the sill, carry away the sash, and crush him.
And the next instant his feet touched the stone flagging and he turned
to find Philippa at his side.
"Be silent," she breathed close to his ear. "A boat has just landed."
"Where?"
"At the foot of the garden. Two men are getting out!"
He knew that the rope would be discovered; he seized it and tried to
break it loose. It held as though it had been woven of wire.
"There is a way into the cellar," whispered Philippa. "Can you lift this
grating? It is only a drop of a foot or two!"
He bent down beside her in the shadows, felt the bars of the narrow
grating overgrown with herbage, pulled upward and lifted it easily from
its grassy bed. Philippa placed her hand flat on the dewy turf, and
vaulted down into darkness. He balanced himself on the edge of the
hole, turned and pulled the grating toward him, and dropped. The
grating fell with a soft thud on the damp and grassy rim of the manhole.
Philippa caught his hand.
"I know my way! Come!" she breathed, and he followed into the pitchy
darkness.
How far they had progressed he had no idea, when she halted and drew him
close to her.
"I've lost my way; I thought I could find the main corridor. Have you a
match?"
"I have a flashlight."
He pulled it from his pocket and drew his pistol also. Then he snapped
on the light.
For a moment the girl stood dazzled and perplexed, evidently unfamiliar
with what she was gazing at, bewildered.
But Warner knew. There, in front of him, stood the great tun, swung
open like a gate, and between it and the next cask ran the secret alley
blocked by the door from which Wildresse had driven Asticot and
Squelette.
"I know the way now!" he said. "But we'll have to pass through the
cafe----"
He sprang back with the words on his lips as the door opened violently
and Wildresse lurched out, followed by Asticot and another man.
But the glare of the torch in their eyes checked them and they recoiled,
stumbling over each other in the narrow doorway.
Step by step Warner backed away, keeping Philippa behind him and
focussing the blinding light on the men huddled in the doorway.
"Who are you?" demanded Wildresse hoarsely. "What are you doing in my
cellar?"
He made a motion toward his breast pocket; Asticot was quicker, and he
fired full at the flashlight which Warner was holding wide of himself
and Philippa.
The bullet struck the light; startling darkness buried them, instantly
all a-flicker again with pistol flashes.
"The grating again! Can you find it, Philippa?" he whispered.
She turned her head as she retreated, caught a glimpse of the faint spot
of starlight behind, took his hand and drew him around.
Evidently Wildresse dared not use any light; his friends were shooting
wildly and at hazard for general results; the racket in the vaulted
place was deafening; but the flashes from their own pistols must have
obscured their vision, for if they could have distinguished the far,
pale spot of light under the manhole, they evidently did not see the dim
figures crouching there.
Warner reached up, grasped the iron bars, lifted them, swung them open.
Then he dragged himself up and over, and, flat on the grass, held down
his arms for Philippa.
Beside him, panting on the grass, she lay flat under the dim luster of
the stars, while they searched the dusk for any sign of the two men who
had landed from the rowboat.
And all at once the girl's eyes fell upon a ladder leaning against the
house, and she silently touched Warner on the arm.
It became plain enough now; the rope was gone; the men had mounted to
the room, found it empty, had unbolted both doors, and started Wildresse
and his crew toward the cellar--the only egress to the street--where lay
their only chance of successful pursuit.
Bending low above the grass, gliding close to the shrubs and bushes,
Warner, with Philippa's hand clasped in his, stole down the slope and
into the shadow of the shoreward trees.
A boat, with both oars in it, lay there, pulled up into the sedge; the
girl stepped in; Warner pushed off and followed her, shipped the oars,
swung the boat, and bent to his work.
"You are taking the wrong way!" whispered Philippa.
"Halkett is waiting on the quay."
Already they had rounded the bank in sight of the ancient arch of the
bridge; the quay wall rose above them in the starlight. At the foot of
the narrow flight of steps he checked the boat; Philippa took the oars,
and he sprang out and ran up the stone incline.
"Halkett!" he called sharply.
A figure seated on the wall turned its head, jumped to the pavement, and
came striding swiftly.
"Have you discovered her whereabouts? Good heavens! Where are your
clothes, Warner?"
"I've found Philippa. She's waiting below in a boat----"
They ran down the steps while they were speaking, and Philippa cried:
"Is it you, Halkett? I am happy again!" And stretched out her slender
bare arm to him, excited, trembling a little from the nervous reaction
which now suddenly filled her eyes and set her disfigured mouth
quivering.
"Awf'lly glad," said Halkett heartily, clasping her offered hand in his
firm cool grip; and if he was astonished at her negligee he did not
betray it, but took the oars with decision and sent the boat shooting
out into mid-current.
"Philippa," he said, pulling downstream with powerful strokes through
the darkness, "I don't know what has happened; Warner got you out of the
mess, whatever it was; but what I do know is that you behaved like a
brick and I shall never forget it! A soldier's thanks, little comrade,
for what you did!"
"I--I am--happy----" she faltered; and her voice failed her. She slid
from the stern down against Warner's knees, and buried her face in her
bare arms against them.
"Do you think you could spare her your coat, old fellow?" asked Warner
in a low voice.
"Of course!" Halkett stripped off his coat and passed it over; then he
gave his waistcoat to Warner.
"Lucky it's a warm night," he said cheerfully, while Warner spread the
coat over Philippa, where she lay exhausted, tremulous, and close to
tears. The girl who had never whimpered when fear, timidity, and
indecision meant instant disaster, now lay huddled against his knees,
shaking in every limb, crushing back the tears that burned her eyes and
her throat, striving to master the nerves that clamored for relief.
Warner bent over her, close, touching her disheveled hair:
"It's all right now," he whispered. "I shall not let you go again until
you want to.... It's all right now, Philippa. I'll stand your friend
always--as long as you need me--as long as you--want me.... Don't worry
about a home; I'll see to it. You are going to have your chance."
One of her crossed hands groped blindly for his, closed over it
convulsively, and her breath grew hot with tears.
"It's a long way to Tipperary," remarked Halkett cheerily. "Tell me
about it when you're ready, old chap."
*CHAPTER XIX*
About seven o'clock the next morning Halkett knocked at Warner's door,
awakening him.
"The cavalry are passing, if you'd care to see them," he said.
Warner got out of bed, found his slippers and a bathrobe, and opened the
door. Halkett, fully dressed in the field uniform of a British officer,
came in.
"Hello!" exclaimed the American in surprise. "What does this mean?"
"It means that we've gone in, old chap."
"England!"
"Yes, we're in it! And I'm off." He made a gesture for silence.
"Hark! Do you hear that?"
Warner listened: from the distance came a confused, metallic sound,
growing more and more distinct, filling the room with a faint ringing,
jarring harmony.