“Why?”

“Why?  Because we have reached the beginning of winter, as I said before.  There must be months when no boat can land at this rock.  It’s bound to be provisioned for several months ahead at the very lowest calculation.  Now, the first thing to do is to put this ancient Johnny in his little cell, then I’ll tell you where our chief danger lies.”

The Governor made neither protest nor complaint, but walked into Number Nine, and was locked up.

“Now, Johnny, my boy,” said Drummond, “our anxiety is the soldiers.  The moment they find they are locked in they will blow those two doors open in just about half a jiffy.  We can, of course, by sitting in front of the lower door night and day, pick off the first four or five who come down, but if the rest make a rush we are bound to be overpowered.  They have, presumably, plenty of powder, probably some live shells, petards, and what-not, that will make short work even of those oaken doors.  What do you propose to do?”

“I propose,” said Jack, “to fill their crooked stairway with cement.  There are bags and bags of it in the armory.”

The necessity for this was prevented by an odd circumstance.  The two young men were seated in the Governor’s room, when at his table a telephone bell rang.  Jack had not noticed this instrument, and now took up the receiver.

“Hello, Governor,” said a voice, “your fool of a gaoler has bolted the stairway door, and we can’t open it.”

“Oh, I beg pardon,” replied Jack, in whatever imitation of the Governor’s voice he could assume.  “I’ll see to it at once myself.”

He hung up the receiver and told his comrade what had happened.

“One or both of these officers are coming down.  If we get the officers safely into a cell, there will be nobody to command the men, and it is more than likely that the officers carry the keys of the powder room.  I’ll turn out the electric lamps in the hall, and light the lantern.  You be ready at the foot of the stairway to fire if they make the slightest resistance.”

The two officers came down the circular stairway, grumbling at the delay to which they had been put.  Lermontoff took advantage of the clamping of their heavy boots in the echoing stairway to shove in the bolts once more, and then followed them, himself followed by Drummond, into the Governor’s room.  Switching on the electric light, he said: 

“Gentlemen, I am Prince Lermontoff, in temporary charge of this prison.  The Governor is under arrest, and I regret that I must demand your swords, although I have every reason to believe that they will be handed back to you within a very few days after I have completed my investigations.”

The officers were too much accustomed to sudden changes in command to see anything odd in this turn of affairs.  Lermontoff spoke with a quiet dignity that was very convincing, and the language he used was that of the nobility.  The two officers handed him their swords without a word of protest.