“How?” I inquired.

“Jest a leetle job o’ slidin’ downhill,” he said.  “There’s a big drain-pipe goes under this cell—­t’ the river, prob’ly.  He says it’s bigger ’n a barrel.”

We saved our candle that day, and walked up and down, from wall to wall, for exercise.  Our hopes were high when we heard footsteps, but they fell suddenly, for, as we listened, we could hear the tramp of a squad of men.  They came to our cell, and took us upstairs, blind-folded as before, to a bath-room, where the uniforms, discarded the day of our capture, were waiting for us, newly pressed.  Our bath over, they directed us to put them on.  They gave us new hats, for our own had been lost the night of the wreck, covered our eyes, and led us through many doors and alleys into the open air.  It was dark, I knew, for as we entered a carriage I could see dimly the glow of a lantern hanging over the wheel.  The carriage went away swiftly on a level road.  We sat knee to knee, with two men facing us, and not a word was spoken.  We could hear hoofs falling, the rattle of bit and rein, the creak of saddle-leather on each side of us.  We must have gone a long journey when the carriage halted.  They pulled us out roughly and led us up three steps and across a deep veranda.  A bell rang, a door swung open, a flood of light fell on us, filtering to our eyes.  Entering, we could feel a carpet under us, and took a dozen paces or more before they bade us halt.  We heard only the low-spoken order and the soft tread of our feet.  There was a dead silence when they removed our fetters and unbound our eyes.  We were standing in a big and sumptuous drawing-room.  A company of gentlemen sat near us in arm-chairs; there were at least a score of them.  Round tables of old mahogany stood near, on which were glasses and packs of cards and wine-bottles.  The young man who sat with the general and answered to “your Lordship” was approaching me, hand extended.

“Glad to see you; sit down,” he said in the same quiet, languid, forceful tone I had heard before.

It was all very odd.  The guards were gone; we were apparently as free as any of them.

“I shall try to make you comfortable,” he remarked.  A servant began filling a row of glasses.  “We have here wine and wit and all the accessories, including women.  I should introduce you, but I have not the honor of your acquaintance.  Let it suffice to say these are my friends” (he turned to those who sat about), “and, gentlemen, these are my enemies,” he added, turning to us.  “Let us hope they may die happy.”

“And with a fighting chance,” I added, lifting the glass without tasting it.

D’ri sat, his brows lifted, his hands in his pockets, his legs crossed.  He looked curiously from one to another.

“Horton,” said his Lordship, as he sat down, leaning lazily on the arm of his chair, “will you have them bring down the prisoners?”