A scraping and a creaking followed; and, of a sudden, the floor beneath the young lieutenant’s feet gave way, and he shot down into space. He tried to save himself, but his descent was too sudden. He struck upon a muddy surface, and his head came into contact with a brick wall. Then, for the time being, he knew no more.
CHAPTER XXIII
GILBERT’S NARROW ESCAPE
When Gilbert regained his senses, he found himself bound hands and feet, and lying upon a pallet of straw. The place was a stone cell, and in a niche of the wall a dim lantern was burning.
He wondered how he had come there, and at last concluded that the old priest had had him made a prisoner and carried hither. His head hurt him not a little, and there was a painful sore on his left elbow.
“I suppose I am worse off than I was before,” was his dismal conclusion. “That priest will never let me go, now that I have shot one of his followers.”
As weak as he was, he endeavored to release himself from his bonds; but the effort proved a failure. His captors had done their work well, and he merely succeeded in cutting his wrists and ankles until the blood came.
His movements created some noise; and presently a door to the cell opened, and the man who had tackled him and who had escaped the second shot came in. He grinned savagely when he saw that Gilbert’s eyes were open, and addressed the prisoner in Chinese.
Not understanding a word, Gilbert made no reply, at which the Boxer—for such the fellow was—gave a growl, and kicked the prostrate officer in the side.
The Boxer kicked the prostrate officer in the side.