“If I had a light!”
He uttered the words aloud, finding that his voice had regained its power in a measure, but it sounded hoarse, unnatural and muffled.
As the words left his lips, there was a sudden squeaking and a hurried scampering sound that seemed to make his hair stand up.
“Rats!”
They were there in large numbers.
“Great Scott!” gasped the boy. “I had rather face a tiger than a swarm of rats in a dark cellar!”
Nervously he felt through his pockets. His purse was gone, but it had not contained much money. Not a weapon was left him, his clasp-knife having been taken, with other things.
Then he uttered a cry of joy.
His fingers had found his waterproof match safe, which he constantly carried.
That had not been taken from him.