Masin's china-blue eyes brightened at the thought of a possible fight, and his hold tightened again on his drill.
"What shall we do with him?" he asked, looking down into the hole.
Cunning, as the Italian peasant is by nature, Masin made a sign to his master that the man, if he were really below, could hear all that was said.
"Shall I go down and kill him, sir?" Masin enquired with a quiet grin and raising his voice a little.
"I am not sure," Malipieri answered, at once entering into his man's scheme. "He is caught in his own trap. It is not midnight yet, and there is plenty of time to consider the matter. Let us sit here and talk about it."
He now turned himself and sat beside the hole, placing his lantern near the edge. He took out a cigar and lit it carefully. Masin sat on the other side, his drill in his hand.
"If he tries to get out while we are talking," he said, "I can break his skull with a touch of this."
"Yes," Malipieri answered, puffing at his cigar. "There is no hurry.
Keep your iron ready."
"Yes, sir." Masin made the heavy drill ring on the stones of the vault.
A pause followed.