"How can we see?"
"Oh, I forgot that. Feel for matches in my coat pocket."
"I've better than matches. A candle; what do you say to that?"
Still he stayed glowering at me.
"Well, why the devil don't you go and get it, man?" I asked.
"Oh yes, to be sure," said he, and disappeared.
"You'll go mad, my son," thought I, "if your delicate nerves are kept under this strain much longer," and leaned back panting against the side. The fellow seemed to take a long time hunting for what he wanted, but at last I heard the sound of his footsteps and looked up.
Lucky for me did I look up then too, for my eye caught a glint of the white sunshine as it was reflected off some bright surface, and with the inspiration of the moment I stepped into the opening at my feet and fell noisily through amid a small avalanche of rubble. Picking myself up, I looked out from the darkness, and saw, as I expected, Weems standing at the brink above nervously fingering the nickel-plated revolver.
"What have you got that blasted thing for?" I sang out.
"Oh, you see—er—there's no knowing what one might meet with down there—er—and it's well to be ready—er—in case——"