CHAPTER VIII

A LEAP IN THE DARK

"What does it mean?" thought Frank, once more alone.

The German's orderly, it was clear, had signalled to him. Who was the man? What message had he intended to convey? From whom was the message?

Frank had at first hardly noticed the man. Even when his attention was attracted, he had observed the man's actions rather than the man himself. He did not recognise him. The man was young; he wore the ordinary uniform of the Turkish soldier; whether he was a pure Turk, or an Armenian, or an Anatolian, or a member of any other of the races that are represented in the Turkish army, Frank could not tell. Whoever he was, the one plain fact was that he was a friend, and it was remarkable enough that a friend should have appeared in company with Wonckhaus.

What did he mean by his stealthy manoeuvres with the watch? Frank remembered how the man had glanced from the watch to the window. Did he suggest a connection between them? Almost unconsciously Frank took out his own watch and noted the time; then he replaced it in his pocket, looking absent-mindedly at the window. And then an explanation flashed upon him. The messenger, or his employer, knew English. He knew it well enough to play upon words. "Watch the window!" That must be the message.

Frank got up and paced the room.

"There's somebody working for me outside," he thought. "Very likely Joseph. Though I never knew Joseph to make a pun. Still, he does know a little English. But why should I watch the window?"

He stood beneath it, and looked at the small square frame, scarcely larger than a ship's porthole. It might be just possible to squeeze through it. Did his friend, whoever he was, intend that he should escape that way? Would he find a ladder placed against the wall? Such an escape would be possible only on some dark night, and what was the good of watching the window in the dark? Besides, with soldiers in the lower rooms, was it possible to place a ladder so silently as not to arouse their attention? If it were possible, would not his movements be seen at least by some prowling dog, whose barks would give the alarm?

Frank was puzzled. As he walked up and down, his head was constantly turned towards the window; it seemed as though he dared not take his eyes from it for a moment, lest in that moment he should miss the chance of release. When night came, he threw himself on his bed, and lay for hours wakeful, gazing in the one direction. No light was allowed him. He looked up at the stars until they appeared to dance, and his eyes ached with following their fantastic movements. That night he scarcely slept. If he found himself dozing, he would rouse himself with a start, and stare again at that spot in the wall which was only distinguishable from the blank spaces about it by the winking stars.

Next day it was the same. Worn and nervous, whether he sat or walked, even when Hussein brought him his meals, he stared at the window. The Arab noticed the fixity of his gaze, and told the soldiers downstairs that the Ingliz would soon go out of his mind. And indeed, when two days and a night had passed, and nothing had appeared at the blank pane, Frank himself felt that suspense and the strain of watching would drive him mad.

On the night of the second day, just after dark, when Frank for the sake of warmth was lying beneath the bedclothes, wakeful and hopeless, he was suddenly startled by an unusual sound--a slight tapping, like the flapping of a blind-cord against glass. His heart was thumping as he sprang out of bed and ran to the window. It was too dark to see anything, but there was unmistakably an object of some kind lightly striking the glass at irregular intervals. Excited with expectation, he mounted on the stool and reaching up for the fastening of the casement, slowly and cautiously, to avoid noise, he undid the rusty latch, and drew the casement inwards. The blast of inrushing air was bitterly cold. He thrust out his hand, moving it from side to side, but felt nothing.

At this moment he heard heavy footsteps clumping up the stairs that led past his room to the roof. He closed the window, though the sound had not surprised him: it was only the men going up to fetch the sheep which were taken up every morning to graze on the turf-covered roof, and brought down every night. He heard the footsteps coming down: then all was silent again.

Shivering with cold, Frank had remained at the window. Would the signal be repeated? It seemed hours before he again heard the flapping. Once more he opened the window, and now his groping fingers touched a thin cord hanging from above. He caught it and pulled it in eagerly. Presently he grasped a stout rope attached to the cord. He drew in a few feet of it, and then could draw no more. The rope was taut. On the roof some ten feet above some one held or had fastened this rope for his deliverance.

It was clear that the next move was with him. He was expected to emerge through the window and climb up the rope to the roof. The window was so high in the wall that he could only reach it by standing on the table. Swiftly he moved this to the spot, wondering whether after all the window was wide enough for his body. And when he stood on the table, preparing to make the attempt, he paused with a sudden dread. Who were these people outside? Were they indeed friends? Was it a trick on the part of Wonckhaus, who had laid this trap for him, so that he might have an excuse for removing an insecure prisoner to the common jail? But on second thoughts he dismissed the suspicion. Wonckhaus had no need of trickery if he wished to increase the rigour of Frank's imprisonment. "I'll risk it," he murmured.

And now his difficulties began. Inside, the window had only a narrow ledge; outside, it was flush with the wall: there was no sill. When once he had got through, there was no possibility of returning; but to get through--that was the problem. There was no secure foothold after he left the table; the window was too low for him to stand upright on the ledge, or even to sit on it. He would have to haul himself out by main strength.

He placed his chair on the table, and standing on that, found that his head was now higher than the top of the window. Then he stooped, put his head out, braced himself for the effort, and taking a grip on the rope as high above his head as he could, he lifted his feet and threw his whole weight on it. For a moment it yielded slightly, but then became taut again. Then he got his knees on the ledge, rested a few seconds, grasped the rope a little higher, and managed to drag his legs out so that he swung clear.

At this critical moment his energy was almost paralysed by the fear of falling. The roof was only ten or twelve feet above him, and a few months before he would have made light of swarming up a rope of double that length. It was only now, when he was committed to the enterprise beyond recall, that he realised how his strength had been reduced by privation and want of exercise. But exerting his will to the utmost, he began to haul himself up hand over hand. Bits of earth struck him, and thudded on the ground below. The fear that the sound would bring the soldiers out made him try to climb faster; but finding his strength failing, he twisted his leg round the rope and steadied himself for a further effort. More material fell from above, and struck the ground with a heavier thud. Sounds from the lower floor warned him that the men's attention had been aroused, and he climbed on, ascending by slow and painful inches. In spite of himself he was forced to rest again, but the support his legs gained from the rope was not sufficient to relieve the strain on his arms, and he had almost given himself up for lost when he felt the rope being slowly drawn up. Too weak to climb further, he could only grip the rope and ascend passively, bumping against the wall and scoring his knuckles.

Below him there were voices, of which he was hardly conscious, so intense was the strain. Then there was a flash upward from an electric torch, and a shout. He felt that his grip was loosening; he was at the point of despair when his wrist was grasped from above. The touch braced him for a final effort; his other wrist was gripped, and next moment he was dragged by main force over the low parapet on to the roof, just as a shot rang out.

Half fainting, he was hauled to his feet, and half carried, half dragged across the turf towards the hillside sloping behind. Up this his rescuers stumbled with him until they reached a narrow track beyond Wonckhaus's house. They heard shouts on the roof they had just left, from the ground below, dogs barking, sounds of growing commotion. The darkness concealed them; their flight was favoured by the clamour. On and on they stumbled, the two rescuers finding their way like cats in the darkness. The shouts became fainter. They moderated their pace, and in a few minutes came to an open doorway. Into this they dived. The door closed silently behind them, and Frank sank in the swoon of exhaustion.