The young fellow spat upon his hands and, seizing the ropes,
began slowly and carefully to mount the flimsy, shaking ladder.
Those below held it as tight as they were able, but nevertheless
he swung backward and forward and round and round as he climbed
steadily upward. Once he stopped upon the way, and those below
saw him clutch the ladder close to him as though dizzied by the
height and the motion but he soon began again, up, up, up like
some great black spider. Presently he came out from the black
shadow below and into the white moonlight, and then his shadow
followed him step by step up the gray wall upon his way. At
last he reached the jutting beam, and there again he stopped for
a moment clutching tightly to it. The next he was upon the beam,
dragging himself toward the window of the bartizan just above.
Slowly raising himself upon his narrow foothold he peeped
cautiously within. Those watching him from be low saw him slip
his hand softly to his side, and then place something between his
teeth. It was his dagger. Reaching up, he clutched the window
sill above him and, with a silent spring, seated himself upon
it. The next moment he disappeared within. A few seconds of
silence followed, then of sudden a sharp gurgling cry broke the
stillness. There was another pause of silence, then a faint
shrill whistle sounded from above.

"Who will go next?" said the Baron. It was Hans Schmidt who
stepped forward. Another followed the arch up the ladder, and
another, and another. Last of all went the Baron Henry himself,
and nothing was left but the rope ladder hanging from above, and
swaying back and forth in the wind.