Cry of the Hunter - Jack Higgins [36]
He wasn’t conscious of the cold or of the wind cutting through the thin material of his pyjamas. He moved inch by inch, his mind fiercely concentrated on maintaining his balance on the narrow ledge. It seemed an age before he reached the first window. It was open several inches at the bottom. He slid his fingers into the slight gap and lifted the sash and climbed in. He moved across the room carefully, straining his eyes through the darkness, but the bed was unoccupied. He walked quickly to the door and turning the knob gently, opened it a couple of inches. Just a few feet away a police sergeant was sitting in a chair reading a book. Fallon quietly closed the door.
He wasted no time. He padded back across the dark room and clambered out on to the ledge again. It seemed colder this time and he shivered as he began to move along towards the next window. He was lucky. The light that showed escaped through a slight gap in drawn curtains and he paused to rest for only a second or two before moving on towards the last window. It was slightly further away than the others had been and when he reached it his arms were trembling.
His fingers scrabbled for a moment at the window frame and panic moved in him when the window remained closed. He pushed again, straining every finger, and the window shot up with a clatter and he lost his balance and half fell across the sill. Pain knifed into his ribs and he stifled a cry of agony and scrambled into the room. For a moment he sat on the floor waiting for the pain to pass. After a time, when it was simply a dull ache, he got to his feet and went cautiously forward. His head bumped into a wall and he moved along it until he reached the door. He turned the knob gently and pulled. Nothing happened. For a moment he stood motionless, breathing heavily, and then he ran his hands over the wall at the side of the door until they encountered the light switch.
He was in a linen room. The walls were lined with wooden shelves that were piled high with sheets and blankets and towels. He tried the door again. It was no use. He switched off the light and went and stood by the open window. There was no despair in his heart but he was worried. He’d overtaxed his strength already. If he passed out now he wouldn’t stand a chance. He’d never get away. He remembered again Stuart’s words and a sudden new energy flooded through him. He climbed out on to the ledge and started back towards his own room.
It seemed to take twice as long on the return journey and once he almost lost his balance and fell. It was only by a miracle he managed to retain his footing. At last he pulled himself over the sill, back into his own room, and staggered across to the bed and sat down. He didn’t feel so good. He was breathing with difficulty because his chest seemed to be constricted by the bandages. He considered the position. It was no use trying the ledge along to the right. There was a light on in almost every room. Someone was bound to see him. It was even possible that those were the windows of a ward. No, he would have to think of something else. He looked at the clock. It was ten-fifteen. He whistled softly to himself. It must have taken longer to get along that ledge than he had imagined at the time. He moved back to the window and leaned out again. There was no way out above him. The eaves of the roof were several feet out of reach. The next row of windows was some ten feet below. He leaned far out and looked down. There was no light in the room directly beneath him.
He hardly considered the danger involved as he stripped his bed quickly and knotted the two sheets and the bedspread together. Underneath the window-sill ran the iron pipe of the central heating system and he carefully tied one end of his improvised rope round it and threw the other out over the window-sill. He clambered out and stood on the ledge and took a firm grip on the sheets and began to slide down. A