"Under the cliff," returns the other. "Right under the guardhouse, I think; if so, far enough."
"Quite far enough, captain," is the hoarse reply. "And now we are here, what's the next move?"
The other remains silent for a moment, while he fumbles at his leg, then touches his breast and face.
"What's the matter, guv'nor, are you hurt?"
"A little," is the reply. "I'm bleeding like an ox."
No. 99 emits a grim, guttural laugh.
"There's enough of that with both on us," he says. "It's like our luck as the beast should turn. I thought you'd struck him straight, too, guv'nor."
"So did I," is the curt retort. "No matter; we are here and that's luck enough."
"But we can't stop here."
"We must till the tide's up, and it's coming now, half an hour and the fishing yawls will be in front of us."