“Ah! so?”
“I found a boat!”
The spark of the cigarette described a parabola in the darkness.
“Hist!”
“What’s the matter, Frenchy?”
“I think I hear someone. Ah! Vat! Ssh!”
There was a silence. It seemed about a hundred and twenty years to Tom and Dave.
Neither dared to speak, but Dave could feel Tom tremble, and it comforted him in his own quivering anguish.
After a time one of the men—he who spoke without an accent—laughed softly.
“There’s nobody about,” he said in a quiet voice, “nor likely to be; an’ if there was it’s too dark for them to see us, an’ if they did see us, that don’t prove nothing.”