The crowd of prisoners round the door held their breath to listen.
"It's all planned," says Gabbett, in a low growl.

"W'en the door h'opens we rush, and we're in among the guard afore they know where they are.
Drag 'em back into the prison, grab the h'arm-rack, and it's all over." "They're very quiet about it," says the Crow suspiciously.

"I hope it's all right." "Stand from the door, Miles," says Pine's voice outside, in its usual calm accents.
The Crow was relieved.

The tone was an ordinary one, and Miles was the soldier whom Sarah Purfoy had bribed not to fire.

All had gone well.
The keys clashed and turned, and the bravest of the prudent party, who had been turning in his mind the notion of risking his life for a pardon, to be won by rushing forward at the right moment and alarming the guard, checked the cry that was in his throat as he saw the men round the door draw back a little for their rush, and caught a glimpse of the giant's bristling scalp and bared gums.
"NOW!" cries Jemmy Vetch, as the iron-plated oak swung back, and with the guttural snarl of a charging wild boar, Gabbett hurled himself out of the prison.
The red line of light which glowed for an instant through the doorway was blotted out by a mass of figures.