As he spoke there came another sonorous twang from above. There was a troubled frown upon the officer's brow.
"I say, dash it all, that's the very sound our steel hawser made when it parted, strand by strand, at Dixmude. What the deuce is the fellow about? Hey, there! what are you trying to do?"
The man had ceased his work and was now slowly descending the iron trellis.
"All right, he's coming," said Stangate to his startled companions. "It's all right, Mary. Don't be frightened, any of you. It's absurd to suppose he would really weaken the cord that holds us."
A pair of high boots appeared from above. Then came the leathern breeches, the belt with its dangling tools, the muscular form, and, finally, the fierce, swarthy, eagle face of the workman. His coat was off and his shirt open, showing the hairy chest. As he appeared there came another sharp snapping vibration from above. The man made his way down in leisurely fashion, and then, balancing himself upon the cross-girder and leaning against the side piece, he stood with folded arms, looking from under his heavy black brows at the huddled passengers upon the platform.
"Hallo!" said Stangate. "What's the matter?"
The man stood impassive and silent, with something indescribably menacing in his fixed, unwinking stare.
The flying officer grew angry.
"Hallo! Are you deaf?" he cried. "How long do you mean to have us stuck here?"
The man stood silent. There was something devilish in his appearance.