rokes they brought the canoe up to that land.

Billy looked at his watch. It was nearly ten. Hurriedly he climbed
out, taking out the stout, notched pole and the knotted rope with
the iron hook at the end which he had prepared. The message which
had been so unintelligible to him was very simple. "Escape by canal
to-night--come to garden at ten," had been the words, and Billy, on
hearing the description of the canal from the one-eyed man, had felt
he understood.

"You're sure this is the place?" he demanded, and on the man's much
injured protestation, "Because if it isn't I'll wring your neck
instead of Kerissen's," he cheerfully promised and set his pole
against the wall, showing the man how to steady it. It was not the
best climbing arrangement in the world, but time had been extremely
limited, and the one-eyed man not inclined to pursue any
investigations which would advertise their expedition.

Wrapping the rope about his shoulders, he started to pull himself up
that notched pole the Arab was holding against the wall, feeling
desperately for any hold for toes and fingers in the rough chunks
between the old bricks, and breathing hard he reached the top and
threw one leg over. He felt something grind through the serge of his
trousers and sting into the flesh.

"Ground glass--the Old Boy!" said Billy through his teeth. He
hoisted himself cautiously, and with his handkerchief swept the top
of the wall as clean as he could. He heard the little pieces fall
with a perilously loud tinkling sound, and flattened himself upon
the wall, and strained his eyes through the darkness of the garden,
but no alarm was raised. The shadows seemed empty.

He hoped to the Lord that no disturbance would break out in the
garden, for the man below would be off in the canoe like a flash. He
had no illusions about the one-eyed man's loyalty, but the fellow
was already in the secret; he was needy and resourceful and as
trustworthy as any dragoman that he could have gone to. And a
dragoman would have had a reputation and a patronage he'd fear to
lose. This melancholy Arab, hawking crocodiles for a Greek Jew, had
more to gain than lose.

By now he had caught the end of the rough hook over the top of the
wall, and let down the knotted rope into the garden below. It was
long enough, thank goodness, he thought, wondering under what
circumstances and in what company he would ascend it again. Then
with one more keen look into the garden, and a r