So the party was over for everyone and most of all Jack. Anyone could've given him a smart shove and sent him into the fire and that would've been the end, or at least an interesting beginning, but instead they all ran away from him – but, he had to assume, not for long. The only one who stayed behind was the one who'd fingered him. She hovered out of sword-range giving him a piece of her mind, so furious she was sobbing. Jack had no desire to draw his sword and get these people more angry than they were, but (a) they couldn't possibly get much more angry no matter what he did, and (b) he had to get the damn splint off his leg if he were going to do any serious fleeing. And fleeing was the order of the night. So. Out came his dagger. The woman gasped and jumped back. Jack controlled the urge to tell her to shut up and calm down, and slashed through all the rag bands around his leg so that the splint-sticks fell away from him. Then he freed his leg by pulling out the scabbard and sword. The woman now screamed .People were running towards Jack now, and cries of "Wächer!' were making it difficult to hear anything else – Jack had absorbed enough German by now to understand that this meant not 'the Watcher' but 'the Watchers.' They'd made up their minds that Jack must be only one of a whole platoon of armed infiltrators, which of course would be the only way his presence there would make any sense. Because to be here alone was suicide.