Crippled as they were, they could not have got far without being overtaken, so no guard was placed over them at night; there was, therefore, nothing to prevent them from fetching the saws up to their loft. Roger's plan was that they should cut through a section of the floor of the loft, so that it formed a trap door secured in such a way that, when a strong catch was released, it would open downwards.
With such limited tools, the job was far from easy. Moreover, to prevent the discovery of this oubliette, the cuts had to be dirtied over both above and below, and the trigger arrangement which would release the trap, together with a stout cord running from it beneath the floor, had to be skilfully camouflaged.
It took them several hours during each of three nights to complete the task, and when they had, Roger was far from confident that his plan would work. He was counting on the fact that the Baron took a particular delight in gloating over his captives and making insulting remarks about their country. Every few days, when they were having their midday or evening meal, Znamensk would come up the ladder to the loft and stand there for ten minutes or so, taunting them with the fact that they would never see their homes again, and sniggering while he made such sneers as that, French women being notoriously a race of whores, they could be certain those dear to them would by now be having a high old time with a succession of lovers.
The trap had been cut in the place where the Baron usually stood while, grinning from ear to car, and occasionally nodding his great mop of straight, flaxen hair, he delivered these provocative monologues. But the question was, what would happen when Roger pulled the cord that would cause the square of floor to drop?
Owing to the situation of the beams, they had been able to make it only two foot six wide and Znamensk was a big as well as a tall man. As he had no paunch, the odds were that he would not jam in the hole; but how seriously would he be injured by his fall on to the hard floor of the barn? Although it was a twelve-foot drop, it was too much to hope that he would break his neck, as it seemed certain that he would hit the floor feet first. But he might break a leg or, with luck, be temporarily sufficiently disabled for his captives, hurrying down from the loft, to get the better of him before his shouts brought help.
The day after they had completed the trap, the prisoners waited with almost unbearable suspense for Znamensk to come up and taunt them. But they were disappointed. Again the following day he did not appear while they were eating their midday stew, and they began to fear that he must have tired of baiting them. At last evening came and, with beating hearts, they heard his heavy tread coming up the ladder. Yet, even then, it seemed that some spirit malevolent to them must have warned him of his danger. Instead of taking his usual stance, feet spread wide and hands on hips, alternately grinning and scowling at them, he paced restlessly up and down, muttering only a few words now and then. It was evident that he had something on his mind and, after a few minutes, he disclosed it.
'Listen, you French dogs,' he snarled in his guttural German. 'If you hear horsemen riding up to the castle and the sound of many voices, don't imagine they are those of your own people and start shouting to be rescued. There are Cossacks in the neighbourhood, and that's who they will be. If they found you here, they'd take you off to a prison camp. But I'm not having that. You're going to work for me. Work till you drop. So I'm sending Kutzie along with a shot-gun. He'll spend the night up here. If the Cossacks do chance to turn up, the first one of you to holler will get a stomach full of lead.'
As he ceased speaking, he came to a halt squarely on the trap. Roger jerked hard on the end of the hidden cord he was holding, and the square of flooring went down with a swish.
The Baron's mouth opened wide, his eyes bulged and his mass of light, fair hair seemed to lift from his scalp as he shot downwards. But, by throwing wide his arms, he just succeeded in saving himself from disappearing through the hole.
The three prisoners had taken the precaution of secretly arming themselves with short lengths of roughly cut branches that would serve as clubs. Knowing that it was now or never, they simultaneously threw themselves upon Znamensk. The Sergeant got in the first blow, Roger the second. Either would have stunned most men, but the Teuton's skull seemed to be made of iron, and was protected by his thick thatch of hair. He only let out a yell, blinked and then, to save himself from a third blow aimed at him by Vitu, he abruptly ceased supporting himself by his elbows on the floorboards, and dropped from sight.
'After him!' shouted Roger and, followed by the others, he shinned down the ladder.
They found the Baron half kneeling on the ground. He was striving to get up, but had evidently broken a leg. Bellowing with rage and pain, his pale blue eyes glaring hatred, he pulled a big hunting knife from the belt of his kaftan. Clearly he was far from finished and any of them who went near enough to knock him out could not escape an upward thrust from the knife which would inflict a very ugly wound.
It was Corporal Vitu who produced the answer. Grabbing up a twelve-foot larch sapling, he used it as a spear and rushed upon the crouching Znamensk. The jagged point of the larch caught him in the throat. Choking, the blood gushing from his neck, he went over backwards. Fournier lurched in and bashed again and again with his club at their victim's skull, until he lay still.
At a limping run, Roger reached the door of the barn and peered cautiously out, fearful that the Baron's shouts would bring Kutzie or one of the other men on the scene. But no one was in sight.
'What now, Colonel?' gasped the Sergeant, still panting from his exertions.
'When Znamensk fails to return to the castle, someone will come to find out what has delayed him,' Roger replied quickly. 'Whoever it is, we ambush him and knock him out. The odds are it will be either Kutzie or the woman. By now the others will have settled down to their supper, then they'll go to sleep. With luck they won't learn till morning what has been going on. But Kutzie will come here for certain. He has been ordered by the Baron to spend the night here, keeping us in order with a gun.'
Semi-darkness had fallen and, listening tensely, they stood veiled by the heavy shadows, two on one side of the barn door and one on the other. The time of waiting seemed interminable, and all of them knew that there was still a big chance that their desperate gamble would not come off. Kutzie might bring one or two of the other men with him for companionship, and they could not hope to take more than one man completely by surprise. All the Baron's men carried knives and would not hesitate to use them. Three lame men armed only with cudgels stood little chance of winning out in a brawl of that kind. And, if they were overcome, they knew the price they would have to pay. For having killed her husband, it was certain that the lumpy Baroness would have them put to death, and the odds were that it would be a very painful one.
It seemed to them a good hour, but not more than fifteen minutes could have elapsed, when they caught the sound of approaching footsteps and whistling. They then knew for certain that it was Kutzie who was coming towards the barn, because his missing teeth gave his whistling a peculiar note. But was he alone? Everything depended on that. And they dared not peer out, for fear that he would glimpse whoever did, and realise that they had come down from the loft, intending to waylay him.
A beam of light flickered over the earth outside the barn. Next moment, all unsuspecting, Kutzie entered. Under his right arm he carried a shot-gun, from his left hand dangled a lantern. He had no chance even to cry out. The Sergeant's cudgel descended on his head from one side and the Corporal's from the other. Although he was wearing a fur cap, the blows felled him. His knees buckled, he dropped his gun and the lantern and fell to the earth, out cold.