The place seemed almost deserted, but a glimmer of light from the archway and the even tramp of a sentry's footstep told it was not all unguarded.
What was he to do?
It would be useless for him to try and steal past the sentry, as the gate beyond must be locked, or at any rate bolted and barred.

He must either, therefore, try and overpower the man or else try to gain the flat roof by the stairs--of which he knew the position--and, trusting to find a rope or something of the sort in the upper room of the gate, let himself down into the ditch outside.
Now, Roy was a well-grown lad of nigh fifteen, tall for his age, and with his light, youthful sinews of iron might well be a match for many a man, especially as his purpose was like steel, and that is ever half the battle.

But there was the chance of other soldiers being within call, and that might mean failure.

Now, _that_ must not be.

Roy had to succeed--he must! Therefore the roof was the wiser, safer plan; he must make for the stairs, trusting to escape notice when the sentry's back was turned.
Till then--silence! But even as he settled this in his mind Fate was against him.