He rose slowly
to his feet.
"Try again!" he said.
Tignonville, his face red, drove the spur again between the laths, and
worked it to and fro until he could pass his fingers into the hole he had
made. Then he gripped and bent down a length of one of the laths, and,
passing his arm as far as the elbow through the hole, moved it this way
and that. His eyes, as he looked down at his companion through the
falling rubbish, gleamed with triumph.
"Where is your floor now?" he asked.
"You can touch nothing?"
"Nothing. It's open. A little more and I might touch the tiles." And
he strove to reach higher.
For answer La Tribe gripped him. "Down! Down, Monsieur," he muttered.
"They are bringing our dinner."
Tignonville thrust back the lath as well as he could, and slipped to the
floor; and hastily the two swept the rubbish from the bed. When Badelon,
attended by two men, came in with the meal he found La Tribe at the
window blocking much of the light, and Tignonville laid sullenly on the
bed. Even a suspicious eye must have failed to detect what had been
done; the three who looked in suspected nothing and saw nothing. They
went out, the key was turned again on the prisoners, and the footsteps of
two of the men were heard descending the stairs.
"We have an hour, now!" Tignonville cried; and leaping, with flaming
eyes, on the bed, he fell to hacking and jabbing and tearing at the laths
amid a rain of dust and rubbish.
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