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Chapter Nineteen.
You are Spies

“We are properly bottled this time,” exclaimed Phil, with some concern, closely examining the cell into which they had been thrust. “Look at these walls, all of thick stone, and pierced by two tiny windows with grilles. It is a regular cage, and after a first look at it I should imagine escape will be impossible.”

“We was in a worse hole before,” cried Tony encouragingly. “And yer must remember there’s lots of ways of getting out besides digging holes in the wall. For instance, we might collar that surly-faced jailer and make a bolt for it. But it wants a bit of thinking out.”

“Consider now, monsieur,” chimed in Pierre in a plaintive voice. “To make ze escape from this – ah – I do not know ’is name, mais – maison – oui, maison – comprenez-vous, monsieur? To make ze escape will bring ze death to us, ze bang and ze bullet. Alas, it will be for ze no good!”

“Nonsense!” said Phil shortly. “If we want to get out we must chance that.”

“Mais, monsieur, we are so happy. Why should we make ze escape? See, ze wall is strong, and ze cannon will not reach us,” Pierre answered, with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Bah! thought you was for getting out?” cried Tony in disgust. “Look here, little ’un, if we tries the game you’re welcome to this here cell to yourself.”

Pierre subsided into silence, and commenced to make beds of the blankets, while Phil and Tony made a thorough inspection of the cell.

“Not a loophole for escape,” growled Tony. “I suppose we’ll have to dig our way out, for get away from here I will.”

“And I too, Tony,” Phil answered quietly. “There must be a way. What is this?” and he pointed to an open grate, upon the hearthstone of which were the long-cold embers of a fire. He put his head into it and looked up the chimney, but all was black as night. Suddenly a familiar voice, sounding a long way off, reached his ear.

“What can it be?” he cried, withdrawing his head. “I can hear that brute Stackanoff distinctly. Hush! I will get higher up into the chimney. Pierre, if you hear footsteps warn me in good time.” Phil crawled beneath the overhanging lip of the grate, and stood up in the chimney. Then, finding a rest for his feet, he gradually ascended. Suddenly his head struck against some brickwork, and by stretching out his hands he found that the chimney bent upward at an easy slope. Surmounting the corner he crept up with some difficulty. The voice now sounded much nearer, so he lay still and listened.

“Know, then, that I have set hands on your comrades, beggarly Englishman!” he heard Stackanoff cry in a cruel voice. “They have been taken as spies, and I hope will be shot. I promise you that you shall see the fun.”

“Wretch!” a weak voice replied, in tones which sounded like Lieutenant McNeil’s, “have you not already ill-treated me sufficiently, and must you now persecute my poor countrymen? Were it not for this wound, which lames me, I would spring upon you and crush the life from your miserable carcass. Leave me, you coward!”

A derisive laugh was the only answer, and, having waited in vain to hear more, Phil slipped back into the cell, looking more like a sweep than a British officer. He was greatly excited, and that, together with the fact that he was partially choked by soot, made it difficult to answer Tony’s eager question.

“What luck!” he cried at last. “This cell must communicate in some way with the next one, and in that is Lieutenant McNeil. Listen, and I will tell you what happened.”

Sitting on his blankets he rapidly communicated the words he had overheard.

“I’m going up there again,” he said, when some ten minutes had elapsed. “If this chimney allows us to reach the other cell, it will allow us, perhaps, to escape. Evidently our pleasant Stackanoff knows nothing about it. At any rate, if I can get into McNeil’s prison, and can find some way out for both of us, he comes with me. Poor chap! See how long he has been shut up.”

“What, another!” exclaimed Tony aghast. “Ain’t it bad enough to have this here Froggy? ain’t that hard enough? And now yer wants to take on another pal?”

Phil glared at him.

“Very well,” he said curtly, “we’ll not make the attempt. I am sorry, for I did not know you were a coward.”

“Call me a coward, me a funk!” cried the gallant Tony, springing from his blanket-bed and striking himself on the chest. “Me, yer old pal too!” He looked half-sorrowfully and half-angrily at Phil. Then his face suddenly flushed.

“So I am,” he cried hoarsely. “Ain’t the poor young officer in distress, and me wanting to desert him? Phil, old friend, here’s my hand. I won’t say another word against it.”

“That’s right,” said Phil, with a smile of relief. “I knew I had only to call you names to make you give way. Now I’ll go up again. Come and give me a lift.”

Climbing into the chimney he worked his way up laboriously. Soon his hand caught upon a sharp ridge of brick, and happening to look up at that moment, he saw a square patch of light with somewhat rugged margins.

“By George,” he muttered, “that must be the broken chimney.”

He turned over so as to be able to inspect it the better, and, with an exclamation of annoyance, noticed that several bars crossed the chimney some eight feet up.

“That will be our greatest difficulty,” he thought. “Still, they are only built into brick, and we ought to be able to loosen them. Now for the other cell.”

He felt the brickwork with his hands, and was delighted to find that it descended suddenly at an angle, showing that it corresponded to the part in which he was lying, and that two fireplaces were evidently arranged to pour their smoke through one common chimney. The flue down which he was looking then must communicate with the other cell.

“McNeil!” he cried softly. “McNeil!”

“Hallo! Who’s that?” came a muffled answer.

Phil repeated his name again more loudly.

“Come to the chimney!” he cried. “I am up here.”

A minute passed, and then the small patch of light which he could just discern beneath was suddenly obscured.

“Who are you? Whatever is happening?” McNeil asked in an eager whisper. “Hush! Speak low. The jailer lives close outside my cell.”

“Do you remember Corporal Western and his friend? The two who helped you with the flag?” asked Phil, making a funnel of his hands.

“Yes, of course I do. But who are you?”

“I am Corporal Western, or rather I was,” said Phil. “I am now a lieutenant in the 30th. But I will explain later. My friend and I, together with a Frenchman, were wrecked and blown ashore this morning. That brute Stackanoff recognised us, and has put us in the cell next to yours, with the accusation that we are spies.”

“Stackanoff! That man must die, Western,” the stern answer came. “He has treated me with the foulest brutality. I am half-starved, and altogether lame, for the second wound I received while trying to escape has festered, and I am racked with fever. For God’s sake get me out of this, old chap!”

“I mean to,” Phil cried cheerfully. “We have no idea how we shall get out yet, but we gave the Russians the slip once before, and will do so now. Be ready at any moment. But I will try to warn you in good time. Now I will slip back, but to-morrow I will come right down into your prison.”

Carefully lowering himself, it was not long before he was back in his own cell, and telling Tony all that had happened and what chances there were of escape.

“Speak low, mate,” said Tony cautiously. “Tell yer what it is. This ’ere Froggy” – and he nodded contemptuously at Pierre – “ain’t worth a bag of salt. My advice is, don’t tell him what we’re up to. You can see he ain’t got the pluck to get out of this, and he’s bound to know he’ll catch it if we get away and leave him. So he’ll round on us if we’re not careful.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Phil.

“Look at the fellow then, and perhaps you’ll change your mind,” replied Tony in a whisper.

Pierre was lying disconsolately in his corner, and when Phil glanced at him the Frenchman’s eyes were shifty. He looked ill at ease, and was evidently deeply curious as to his fellow-prisoners’ movements.

“What for does monsieur mount ze chimney?” he asked peevishly. “Eef ze door open, what happen? Vraiment, ze bang;” and he shuddered at the thought that all would be shot.

“Look here,” said Phil sternly, and with hardly repressed anger and contempt, “that man Stackanoff has got us in his clutches, and if we are to live we must escape. I went up the chimney for that purpose, but could see no way out in that direction. If we find a loophole, you must decide whether to accompany us; but mind me, do not attempt to betray us, or we will break your neck!”

“Betray monsieur! Ah, non!” the little man cried, lifting his hands in expostulation. “Surely I will come with you. I will brave ze death.”

“Mind yer do then,” grunted Tony, looking searchingly at him.

But the incident, small as it was, was sufficient to put Phil and his friend on their guard, and after that they kept their counsels to themselves.

At dusk, the sour-faced jailer brought in some bread and a jug of water, and without answering Phil’s remarks that the cell was not fitted for officer or men, banged the door and locked it. Before he did so, Tony caught sight of six Russian soldiers standing in the doorway.

“No chance of rushing that when the jailer comes in,” he said shortly. “Never mind, the chimney’s good enough for me.”

The bread was now divided up, and they fell to hungrily. Then, when his wound had been dressed, Phil and his friends lay down. Fortunately for the former, the bayonet had made a clean thrust through the muscles, and though he suffered some pain, and was stiff, the wound was too slight to incommode him greatly.

The following morning, just as dawn was breaking, Phil slipped off his coat, climbed up the chimney, and slid down into the other cell, where he found McNeil sleeping soundly. He was shocked at the poor fellow’s appearance. He was greatly emaciated and intensely pallid. Phil woke him gently.

“Hush, keep quiet!” he said. “Here I am, come to have a chat with you.”

McNeil sat up with difficulty.

“Ah, Western!” he cried, grasping Phil by both hands, while his lips quivered, “yours is the first friendly grasp I have felt since I was taken prisoner. So you are now a subaltern, and have been taken prisoner for the second time? How did you escape? I sent a letter to say how gallantly you and your friend fought by my side for the flag.”

“Yes, and it reached the camp safely,” said Phil, “and I was promoted to sergeant, and my friend to corporal. But I will tell you all about it later. Now let me know about this brute Stackanoff.”

“Ah, he is a brute! See here, Western! He has refused me the help and advice of a doctor, and my wound daily gets worse and cripples me.”

Phil looked at it, and going to a basin in the corner of the cell, filled it with water and returned.

“I’ll set you right in a minute,” he said. “I was for a little while in the cholera hospital, and know a little about wounds too.”

Some linen lay at hand, and with this he cleaned the wound and dressed it carefully.

“Thank you, Western!” said McNeil gratefully. “You are my good Samaritan. Now what about this escape? I can just limp along, and shall be ready at any moment.”

“The door is out of the question,” Phil replied thoughtfully. “It is too strong to break, and a guard accompanies the jailer. Then the windows are too small and too high up, while the floor is impossible. The only way is up the chimney.”

“Good heavens! up the chimney?”

“Yes; listen! Our cells communicate by slanting flues, and above the junction rises a brick chimney, which is amply wide enough for our bodies. At present it has bars across it, but my friend – who, by the way, is now my servant – will help me to remove them. Fortunately, a shot has cut the chimney off short, and I noticed before coming in that the drop from the top to the roof is not very great.”

“And what do you intend doing once you get out?” asked the wounded officer. “Remember you are in the fortifications, and the Russians are as thick as peas all round.”

“We must make for the harbour, if possible, and in any case we must chance it. I have been thinking it over this morning; and that is the only way out that I can see. Of course if we cannot get down to the shore and secure a boat, we must creep out between the forts and bolt for our lives. That would be a desperate undertaking.”

Both were thoughtful and silent for a moment.

“Now I think I had better return,” said Phil. “Be prepared at any time, for the sooner we are away the better. Our lives are never safe while Stackanoff has us in his power.”

He grasped McNeil’s hand and crept into the chimney.

That night, when all was quiet in the cells, and only the distant booming of the English mortars, and the louder crash of their exploding shells, broke the silence, Phil and Tony crept into the chimney, leaving Pierre breathing heavily on his bed.

Phil climbed to the angle and helped Tony to reach his side. Then, taking it in turn, they stood on one another’s shoulders, and wrenched at the bars.

They were more solidly-wedged than had at first seemed likely, but the shell which had struck the stack had cracked the brickwork below, and this lessened the difficulty of their task. It was terribly hot work, however, and by the time two heavy bars had been wrenched free they were exhausted.

“We’ll jam the loose bars here,” said Phil in a whisper. “Who knows when we shall want weapons with which to defend ourselves!”

Tony chuckled. “You’re a cool hand,” he laughed. “Who’d have thought of all this if it hadn’t been for you. Now all’s plain sailing, and I prophesies complete success. Ah, if only that chap Stackanoff would get in my way I’d smash him into a jelly!”

Cautioning him to keep quiet, for both were by now still more doubtful of the cringing Pierre, they slipped down to the cell, and were soon sunk in deep sleep, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

On the following afternoon the cell door was thrown open, and Stackanoff stalked in with his guard. He glared at his prisoners in a manner that showed his temper had not improved since they saw him last.

“Ah!” he said at last, glancing at the trembling Pierre, – who thought his last hour had come, – and gloating over his terror, “the whole plot is discovered. You are all spies.”

With a sob the little Frenchman fell on his knees, and with clasped hands cried, “Mercy, Monsieur ze Russian, je suis innocent!”

“Get up, you little funk,” said Phil bitterly, while Tony clasped him by the collar and jerked him to his feet.

“Yes,” continued Stackanoff, “you are all spies. The tale that you were washed ashore is exploded. Confess now, and I will promise to deal leniently with you.”

“Confess!” shouted Phil, roused to anger. “You know well that we are no spies. And let me tell you, you are merely an inspector, and have no right to punish us. Is this fit treatment for a British officer? Wait,” and he shook his finger at the Russian, “I will yet communicate with the gentleman who dismissed you, and probably he will be less pleased with your conduct than before.”

“You will! then I will give you little time, you Englishman,” snarled Stackanoff, beside himself with rage at the mention of his disgrace. “To-morrow I will have you brought before the military court, and I myself will swear that you are spies who escaped me once before. Then you will be shot. After all, it is an easy death,” he laughed sardonically.

Phil felt inclined to fly at him, but he kept his temper.

“After all,” he answered quietly, “it is more easy than death by the bayonet, and that perhaps is why so many of your comrades chose death by the bullet in the fight at Inkermann.”

“Ha, you would remind me of our disgrace!” hissed the Russian. “Listen, you stubborn English pig. Once you disgraced me and pulled me, Stackanoff, leader of a regiment of Cossacks, to the ground. I did not forget, and I will repay in full measure. You shall come before the military tribunal, as I told you, and that officer for whom you did that foolish deed shall be evidence against you. You will be condemned, and at early dawn, when the cold fog still lies on the ground, you shall be led out to your doom. I shall be there. Do you hear? I, Stackanoff, who hate you worse than any, shall be there, and I myself will shoot you. You shall hear the word, my brave Englishman; you shall see the musket raised, and you shall wait. Ah, yes! you shall have time to think over and regret your folly. Then, when your knees give way like those of this cur of a Frenchman, I will shoot you, and your body shall be flung into the sea. Thus you will learn that it is ill to bring disgrace on the head of a Stackanoff.”

Phil laughed in the man’s face and looked at him with steady gaze, before which the fiery Russian’s eyes lowered.

“You call this man a cur,” said Phil with a smile, nodding his head at Pierre. “Believe me, you Russian dog, he is a brave man compared with you, for he would not murder his fellow-being. If that time comes of which you have spoken, I will do my best to bear it; and should your time to face death come first, I trust you may set me an example. I doubt it though. Bullies, such as you, are ever cowards, and vengeance, when followed too far, is apt to bring disaster to the avenger. My only wish is that I could reach your comrades. They have proved themselves brave and honourable men, and would spit on you.”

The Russian’s face was an ugly picture. Flushed with hate and rage, he looked as though he would repeat his former assault. But, standing upright and sturdy as he did, his head proudly held in air, Phil did not look a young man to be trifled with, even by one with weapons in his hands. Moreover, Tony was close alongside, his eyes fixed upon the Russian’s face, and clearly showing that at the slightest attempt he would treat him less gently than before.

“You defy me and laugh at me,” said Stackanoff wrathfully. “Very well, I will leave you now and visit your friend. But you shall see me again very soon.”

With a snarl of rage he turned on his heel and left the cell.

“What’s it all about?” asked Tony eagerly. “This lingo’s too much for me, and how you ever picked it up beats me altogether. Get up, you sniveller;” and with an angry growl he hoisted Pierre to his feet once more, for the Frenchman had given way to his fears.

“He’s off to McNeil’s cell, Tony,” Phil answered hurriedly. “I’ll tell you all that passed in good time, but give me a lift into the chimney. I must hear all that happens.”

He sprang to the grate, and, helped by Tony, was soon at the angle. Breathless with his exertions, he climbed still higher, leaning his body well over the sharp edge of brickwork, and listened eagerly. Suddenly there was a clash, the dull hollow echo of which came rushing up the chimney, followed by Stackanoff’s voice.

“I shall be with this prisoner some time,” he said, evidently addressing the jailer. “You and the guards can withdraw. I will hammer on the woodwork when I require you to let me out. Now close the door and dismiss the guard.”

“Now, sir,” he continued, harshly addressing McNeil, when the door had banged. “I have a proposition to make to you, and consider well before you answer it. Liberty is dear to every man, and more so to you, who are sick and wounded. You can buy yours at the price of that man’s life who dragged me from my saddle. Swear that he was a spy then, and that that is his regular employment, and I will set you free. I will myself hand you over to the English sentries.”

An inarticulate cry of rage burst from McNeil’s throat. What followed Phil did not hear, for, suddenly overbalancing in his eagerness, he lost his hold and slipped headlong into the opposite cell, arriving with a crash into the open grate and rolling on to the floor before the astonished eyes of the prisoner and his Russian tempter.

Chapter Twenty.
From the Mouth of the Lion’s Den

Never before had our hero so much need of courage and quick resolution as on that occasion, when, helpless to save himself, he slid like a sack down the chimney, and plumped into the very presence of his bitter enemy. But he was the kind of lad to make the best of a difficult situation. It was not for nothing that he had joined heart and soul in cricket and football, and in every manly game. He had gone through a schooling indeed which no English lad should neglect, and which no one ever regrets; for even in later days, when the cares and duties of life prevent one from indulging in the old games, the quickness and sureness of eye and the presence of mind still remain, and may at any moment extricate one from danger or difficulty.

Phil was a young man whose muscles had been hardened in every game, and whose judgment could be relied on to count the chances of victory in each. Here was a game – one, indeed, of life and death – and instantly recovering from his surprise, and recognising that immediate action was necessary, he sprang to his feet and hurled himself upon the astonished Russian before the latter could grasp his sword. Linked together in a close embrace they swayed from side to side, but Phil had the advantage of size, and squeezing his adversary till the breath was driven from his body, he lifted him in his strong arms and dashed him to the floor.

“Great heavens! you’ve done for him,” cried McNeil, kneeling by the Russian’s side. “Look, his neck is broken.”

“Then his death be on his own head,” gasped Phil. “If I had not killed him, he would soon have had me shot, and besides, my tumbling down that chimney would have spoilt all our chances of escape. Now he’s dead, and if we are to get away, it must be done to-night, for should the guards discover what has happened it will mean little mercy. As likely as not we should be taken out and shot before half an hour had passed.”

“But what about the jailer?” asked McNeil. “We can be sure that he has heard nothing suspicious or he would have been in here by this. He is aware, though, that Stackanoff is with me, and he will be waiting impatiently for his return?”

“Yes, he will be getting impatient before long,” mused Phil. “There is nothing else to be done at present. We will wait till his patience is exhausted, then my friend and I will knock, and as soon as he comes in we will collar him.”

“It seems desperately risky, but I suppose it is the only way, Western. If you get hold of him, though, it will save the trouble of climbing through the chimney, an acrobatic feat which, in my present condition, I shall not be sorry to be spared.”

“Quite so. I had not thought of that, McNeil,” said Phil. “Now I will call Tony. I shall only be gone a few minutes.”

Slipping into the chimney, Phil soon regained his own cell.

“Did you hear anything, Tony?” he asked shortly.

“Nothing, mate; but what’s been keeping yer so long. You look flurried too. What’s happened?”

Phil explained that Stackanoff was dead.

“We must get away to-night, Tony,” he said, with decision, “and first of all we must capture the jailer. He is to open the door at Stackanoffs knock, and I propose that we throw ourselves upon him. Now, listen. After knocking, I will stand behind the door so that he cannot see me, and will call to him to come in. You will crouch behind me, and bang the door to. Then we will pull him down and gag him. Bring your blanket with you.”

Meanwhile Pierre had listened anxiously, his ferrety little eyes shifting from face to face.

“What is this that happens?” he asked eagerly. “Monsieur makes ze disappearance up ze chimney, then he come back again.”

“We must get away to-night, do you understand?” Phil replied, looking searchingly at him. “Are you willing to come?”

“Vraiment, I will accompany you, monsieur,” answered Pierre hesitatingly. “Mais – ah, what will ze Russian with ze face severe do to us? Surely he will make ze bang.”

“Oh, you little coward!” murmured Phil bitterly, “you will spoil everything yet. I tell you, Pierre,” he added, clutching him by both shoulders, “if you wish to stay, do so; but you will probably be shot as a spy. That will be your bad luck in having been washed ashore with us. If you attempt the escape with us, beware how you behave, for should you make a sound to betray us, I will kill you. Now, stay here, and prepare to accompany us. We shall be back in half an hour. Come, Tony, it is already dark, and we must capture that fellow.”

“Then in a half of the hour you make ze return,” said the little Frenchman, looking as though he had smothered his fears. “Bien, I shall be prepared.

“Aha, my good fellows!” he muttered in his own language a few moments later, with quivering lips. “You have gone up the chimney, and will be back in half an hour. Why should I die for your foolishness? It would be suicide.”

Creeping to the chimney, the crafty little coward listened while Phil and Tony slid into the other cell. Then he stepped to the door, and prepared to give the alarm, hoping thereby to escape the fate which would certainly befall the others if discovered. But, overcome by terror of the consequences, he remained irresolute for more than ten minutes ere he dared to shout, for he had a wholesome terror of the fair-haired young Englishman who had brought him back to consciousness when lashed to the wreckage, and moreover there was an ominous look in Tony’s eyes as that burly young giant looked at him for the last time before entering the chimney.

Meanwhile Phil and Tony had entered the other cell.

“Now for it,” said Phil. “McNeil, you are too lame to help us, so had better lie down on your blankets. Tony, tear up the blanket and get the gag ready. You quite understand?” he went on, when all was finished. “You crouch behind me, and slam the door as soon as the fellow comes in. Then we jump on him. It is dark enough now, so we’ll knock.”

Taking the precaution to drag Stackanoff’s body into the corner behind the door, Phil knocked loudly, and, hearing footsteps outside, cried out in a feigned voice and in the fierce manner in which the dead Russian seemed to have been in the habit of addressing his subordinates, “Hi, you, fool that you are! Why do you not listen, and let me out?”

A second later there was the sound of a key in the lock, and almost at the same moment a most unearthly scream.

The escaping prisoners looked at one another with doubting eyes, but before a question could be asked the door was pushed open cautiously. Phil clutched its edge, so that it could not easily be closed, and waited. Then again came the scream, this time more clearly heard, while the voice of Pierre could be distinguished crying at the top of his voice, and still in broken English, as if that would be better understood by the Russians, “Help! help! Ze English prisonaire make ze escape!”

“Ah! treachery!” gasped the jailer, stepping back and attempting to close the door.

Phil darted out and made a grab at the man, but with a cry of terror the Russian took to his heels, and raced up the steep flight of steps, where he turned towards the town.

Phil followed him to the top of the stairway, and then returned hurriedly.

“He has got away, and has gone to call the nearest guard,” he cried in hurried tones. “Tumble out, you fellows. They will be back here in a quarter of an hour or less, and if we are to give them the slip, it must be now. What are you doing, Tony? Come here, you idiot!”

Tony crept from the chimney, into which he was in the act of climbing, and slunk back to his friend’s side abashed, and yet full of indignation.

“Going to leave that cabbage-eating French monkey?” he asked angrily. “What’s he done? Why, just spoilt all our chances; that’s all.”

“It is the very thing you will be doing, old man,” answered Phil. “Now, give me one of those bars, and keep one yourself. McNeil, I’m ready, if you are. Here is Stackanoff’s sword for you. As for that little coward, he has done all the harm he can possibly do us, so we will leave him to his own devices.”

They grasped their weapons, and Phil and Tony, placing themselves on either side of the wounded lieutenant to help him along, hurried out of the cell, up the stairs, and ran for a deep ditch which they had noticed as they were marched to prison. It seemed to be a trench constructed to command the rear of some of the fortifications, and for the moment would prove an excellent shelter.

“Listen, I hear the guard returning!” whispered McNeil, “and the bell that is ringing must be a warning to announce that prisoners have escaped. Whew! that was a nasty one!” he exclaimed a moment later, for the guard had advanced with a blazing torch to assist in the search, and, the street being visible from the British trenches, and the range known to a nicety, a shell had been pitched with precision just in front of the group. The torch was instantly extinguished and all was darkness again, but the sound of distant marching, and an occasional order sharply given, proved that troops were being hastened from their quarters to patrol the streets and cut off the escaping prisoners.

“They know that the harbour is our only chance,” said Phil bitterly. “I fear it looks like failure this time, McNeil.”

“It does look bad,” agreed the latter sadly. “What hard luck, when we had all set our hearts so much upon it!”

“Are you game to try the other way?” asked Phil eagerly.

“Game!” answered McNeil enthusiastically; “just you try me. I’ve had enough of Russian prisons for a lifetime, and I tell you I would rather die than go back.”

“Then we go forward,” said Phil shortly. “Keep close together and steer between the forts. If anyone challenges, leave me to answer.”

Climbing from the ditch, they set their faces for the British camp and crept forward cautiously till they recognised the Malakoff looming big and shadowy in front. Phil led the way and attempted to make out the position of the earthworks and trenches. “There – there they are, only a few yards in front of us!” he whispered eagerly. “Hush! down for your lives!”

A figure suddenly rose up in front of them and listened. Evidently the man was a sentry, and had heard something suspicious, for next moment he challenged loudly.