“That will do!” He made his way toward the entrance. “What’s the matter with the door?”
“It’s closed,” one shrieked with terror. “Closed tighter’n a tomb.”
“Hey, listen men, you needn’t be so frightened. Don’t jam the thing and just as soon as Gordon gets back they’ll open it easily from the outside; but be careful you don’t fix it so they can’t,” Cardow urged, and a few of the men got somewhat over the panic.
“Ain’t it most half an hour?” one asked anxiously.
“Twenty minutes. Ten minutes more and we’ll be out. Now, don’t lose your heads and queer the whole works.” He spoke so coolly that some of his courage and common sense was caught by the others, and they grinned sheepishly at each other as they drew away from the door.
“I remember reading about them sailors canned up in that submarine—”
“Shut up—”
“Maybe Gordon closed that thing himself,” another suggested.
“Say, will you crape-hangers keep still!” Cardow snapped, but his voice was neither as cool nor as steady as it had been. After that the place was so still that the ticking of the watch could be heard clearly, with an occasional sharp intake of breath as a man struggled to maintain control of himself.
“Put the wife back,” Arto whispered to his brother. “They will not keep so calm.” Quietly Pedro moved in front of the woman and Arto stepped close so that their bodies formed a barrier for her. For a moment Jim did not understand what they were doing, but when he realized that the Gonzalas expected some sort of mad scramble, he took a place as near as he could get. Then he was surprised to notice that the hand-cuff dangled from his wrist and that his cuff-mate had slipped out. Quickly the boy drew the empty ring up his sleeve and put out his hands as if they were still secured.