later he had climbed on a
barrel and was overlooking the squirming crowd and eagerly listening
to the clamour. Above every sound--above the cries and clatter and
gabble--rang the fighting English of Bill o' Burnt Bay.

It was no American; it was Skipper Bill whom the gendarmes had taken,
and he was now so seriously involved, apparently, that his worst
enemies could wish him no deeper in the mesh. They had him bound hand
and foot and guarded with drawn swords, fearing, probably, that
somewhere he had a crew of wild fellows at his back to make a rescue.
To attempt a rescue was not to be thought of. It did not enter the
boy's head. He was overcome by grief and terror. He withdrew into a
shadow until they had carried Skipper Bill out with a crowd yelping at
his heels. Then, white and shaking, he went to a group in the corner
where Louis Arnot, the gendarme, was stretched out on the floor.

Archie touched the surgeon on the shoulder. "Is he dead?" the boy
asked, in French, his voice trembling.

"No, monsieur; he is alive."

"Will he live?"

"To be sure, monsieur!"

"Is there any doubt about it?" asked Archie.

"Doubt?" exclaimed the surgeon. "With _my_ skill, monsieur? It is
impossible--he _cannot_ die! He will be restored in three days.
I--_I_--I will accomplish it!"

"Thank God for that!" thought Archie.

The boy went gravely home to bed; and as he lay down the adventure
seemed less romantic than it had.

CHAPTER XVIII

_In Which Archie Inspects an Opera Bouffe Dungeon Jail,
Where He Makes the Acquaintance of Dust, Dry Rot and
Deschamps. In Which, Also, Skipper Bill o' Burnt Bay Is
Advised to Howl Until His Throat Cracks_

In the morning Archie went as a tourist to the jail where Bill o'
Burnt Bay was confined. The wind was blowing fresh from the west and
promised to hold true for the day. It was a fair, strong wind for the
outward bound craft; but Archie Armstrong had no longer any interest
in the wind or in the _Heavenly Home_. He was interested in captives
and cells. To his astonishment he found that the Saint Pierre jail had
been designed chiefly with the idea of impressing the beholder, and
was builded long, long ago.

It was a low-walled structure situate in a quiet quarter of the town.
The outer walls were exceeding thick. One might work with a pick and
shovel for a week and never tunnel them.

"But," thought Archie, "why tunnel them when it is possible to leap
over them?