Throwing the blanket over his left arm and shouldering the iron bar, he again clambered up the chimney; regained the Red Room; hurried along the first passage; crossed the Chapel; threaded the entry to the Lower Leads; and, in less than ten minutes after quitting the Castle, had reached the northern extremity of the prison. Her name was Rhea. When he was concentrating, deep shadows formed under his gray eyes. As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder. He pushed her small hand into his jeans.
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