Before we had hit upon a plan, we were thrown into a great
excitement by the disappearance of Vetch. I had missed him for a
day or two from the courtyard, but thought little of it, supposing
that he was confined to his dormitory by a touch of fever, as
happened not infrequently among the prisoners. But on Punchard's
remarking one day that he believed Vetch was malingering, it came
out that he had not been seen by his roommates for nearly a week.
Was it possible that while we had been merely thinking of escape,
Vetch had found a means of escaping? It seemed impossible, and when
I was having my daily conversation with the soldiers of the guard,
I asked point blank what had become of him. They laughed and
chuckled, and amused themselves for some time by giving all manner
of fantastic explanations, which improved my knowledge of French,
but were mightily vexatious. At last I made out, from hints and
half statements, that the commandant had been discreetly inquiring
among some of the prisoners for a man who was well acquainted with
the river Avon. Since these inquiries ceased and Vetch disappeared
about the same time, I was free to conclude that in Vetch the
commandant had found his man. Had he purchased his freedom at the
price of treason to his country? Were the French meditating an
attack on Bristowe? These were questions I could not answer; but
you may be sure the knowledge that Vetch was gone acted as a whip
to my determination, and I was more than ever resolved to find some
way of leaving these walls behind.
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