Suddenly, when he was already half way up it, he was struck by an appalling snag. The rope was only fifteen feet long and the wall eighteen feet high. Before he got to the top he would find himself anchored by her weight and unable to proceed farther. Coming down again, he stared at her still motionless body, frantically racking his wits for a way to overcome this apparently insurmountable obstacle to getting her to the top.
A moment, and he had it. Undoing his own belt he slipped it over his arm, went up again to within three feet of the top, hooked the belt over one of the spikes and, after another cautious look round, climbed out over the edge. By reaching down he was now able to grasp the belt and haul upon it.
Lying on his stomach, he took the strain. She had been heavy enough while he was carrying her, but now she seemed to weigh a ton. As soon as she was off the ground he edged along a couple of feet to get her clear of the spikes; then he strove to haul her up.
The strain on his wrists and arms was agonizing. He could only manage to hoist her a few inches at a time. Sweat poured off him. The thin rope bit into his fingers. Once, when she was two thirds of the way up, it slipped. Like a red-hot iron it seared into the flesh of his hands. He could have screamed from the pain. Clenching his teeth and shutting his eyes, he managed to check the slipping rope and hang on. Another two minutes of almost superhuman effort and he was able to grab the belt round her waist with his right hand. For a few moments he lay there panting. Then in one great heave, he dragged her up beside him.
It had taken longer than he had allowed to get her up out of the pit. There was now not a moment to be lost. One quick look round and, still gasping for breath, he pulled her across his shoulders. Lurching to his feet he staggered with her at a stumbling run towards the river. Half blinded by sweat he reached the railing. Lowering her beside one of the cannons, he dashed the sweat from his eyes and peered down at the black fog misted water. To his unutterable thankfulness he saw the dark hulk of the launch just nosing her way in.
In a hoarse whisper he hailed her. A low answering hail came back. Apprehensively he glanced over his shoulder, but no movement broke the surrounding gloom. The tide was ebbing fast. The nose of the launch grounded three feet out from the embankment wall; but it was near enough. He hoisted Sabine's limp body on to the rail. Then he leaned over and said in a voice just loud enough for Kasdar to hear him:
'She is unconscious. By mistake she took some dope that knocked her out. But that was over an hour and a half ago. Water in the face and a hard slapping ought to bring her round pretty soon now.'
As he finished speaking he grasped the rope again in his lacerated hands, and tipped her over. Lowering her was renewed torture, and he could feel the blood oozing between his fingers. But a man that Kasdar had brought with him was standing in the bow. He caught Sabine by her dangling ankles, drew her towards him, seized her round the waist, and took the strain. With a moan of relief, Gregory let go the rope.
At that instant the silence was shattered by a challenge, 'Halt! Who goes there?'
Gregory swung round. Only a dozen yards away a figure had suddenly emerged from the fog and was rushing upon him.
'Jump for it!' shouted Kasdar. 'Jump for it!'
But momentarily Gregory seemed paralysed. Within a matter of seconds the sentry was upon him, yelling, 'Hands up! Hands up! Stay where you are, or it'll be the worse for you!5
Coming to life Gregory sprang at him and seized his rifle. As they struggled for the weapon their voices mingled in new shouts. Gregory was calling to Kasdar:
'Get her away! Her life depends on it! Never mind me! Get her away!' while the sentry was bellowing:
'Turn out the guard! Turn out the guard!'
Already the other two sentries had heard the commotion. Their nail studded boots rang upon the roadway as they raced to the scene, and both of them were echoing their comrade's shouts:
'Guard, turn out! Turn out the guard!'
Another minute and Gregory was the centre of a melee in which all three men, although hampered by their rifles, were trying to seize him. He caught a glimpse of the launch disappearing in the darkness. Then one of the soldiers reversed his rifle and struck at him with its butt. The heavy blow caught him on the shoulder. His knees buckled and he fell backwards. His head struck the iron wheel of the cannon behind him, and he went out like a light.
Epilogue
On the morning of Thursday, November 12th, Sir Pellinore was sitting at his desk in his big library. At a little after midday Erika joined him there. She had only just arrived from Gwaine Meads, as the result of a letter she had received from him that morning. Her rich gold hair was as smoothly done, and her fine face as carefully made up, as usual, but there were deep shadows between her high cheekbones and pansy blue eyes; and, whereas she habitually carried herself with distinction, there was now a despondent droop about her shoulders.
Coming to his feet, Sir Pellinore boomed, 'Delighted to see you, my dear. Got your telegram an hour ago. But you needn't have bothered to send one. You're always welcome here. You know that.'
As she thanked him she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Then he held a chair for her and went on, 'Bad business this, about Gregory; but I thought you ought to know.'
'It's terrible!' she said. 'Terrible! I think that woman must have Satanic powers, and have cast a spell on him. But witch or not, I could cheerfully murder her.'
'Oh, I don't know.' Sir Pellinore sat down again, leaned back and tapped the tips of his fingers together. 'She wasn't really to blame for this business. Gregory was determined to get her out even before he'd been down to the Tower to see her. You could hardly expect her to refuse the offer.'
'Why didn't you stop him?'
'I tried to. But you know what he's like when he's got the bit between his teeth.'
'Is he badly injured?'
'Troops gave him a pretty rough handling. One of them broke his collar bone with a rifle butt, and he cracked the back of his head open fallin' against an old cannon. But he wasn't looking too bad when I went down to see him in the prison hospital yesterday.'
'What will they do to him?'
Sir Pellinore pulled a long face. 'The charge for assistin' an enemy agent to escape is treason. At the worst that could mean death. But it may not come to that in view of the services he has rendered to his country.'
Seeing that Erika's lower lip had begun to tremble, he leant forward quickly. 'Don't take too black a view! No good doin' that. Let's talk of something more cheerful. This North Africa show has been a wonderful success. Little short of a miracle. Off Casablanca the night before the weather was most unpromisin'. But whatever the Americans' faults they've plenty of guts. Their Admiral decided to go in, and God calmed the waters for them. Our end, too, went without a hitch. Just think of it! All those hundreds of ships, and nearly a hundred thousand troops, conveyed over a thousand miles of ocean without the loss of a single life.'
Erika' nodded. 'Yes, it's almost unbelievable.'
'I happen to know the inside story of how the job was done,' Sir Pellinore went on, 'and it's fascinatin. Positively fasclnatin'. As everyone knows, from Marlborough to Hitler, a good Cover Plan has always been half the battle. To start with, by putting rumours out among the neutrals, and that sort of thing, our people persuaded the German Intelligence to believe that the convoys were heading for Dakar. But, of course, that couldn't hold once they'd passed through the Straits of Gib., so we tried to fox them that we meant to relieve Malta and invade Sicily. Not easy that.