"Then hail the boy, man!"
"Boy Hoad! below there!" in stentorian tones.
The only answer was a rush of air through the open trap, and the muffled slam of a door, house-shaking.
II
The Parson ran down into the cellar.
Blob's lantern glimmered on the floor, but there was no Blob.
He felt the door, cold to his hands as a corpse. It was shut fast as death. The catch had snapped; but the bolts were not home.
His first impulse was to open; his second to refrain. A man with a musket anywhere in the drain could not miss him. And he once down, the door open, all was over!—the cottage stormed, the despatches taken, old man Piper slain, and Nelson lost.
His ear against the clammy iron, he listened. Yes; outside the door he could detect the sound of faint breathing.
A distance away, he could hear the scuffling of feet.