"I was wondering if anyone on the road would hear and come along. We'd wave," repeated Hugh.
"Of course. Any juggins would do that. But they won't hear. The sound breaks up in the building. You wouldn't hear it if you were down below in that old garden. How's time? I do wish Bert'd come back. Supposing he don't? What then?"
"We run for it."
"And leave him?"
"Those were his or—er, his wishes," said Hugh hurriedly.
"Oh! Then I suppose we must, though I don't like leaving him. But it's better than all being murdered. George! It's four minutes five seconds since he left us."
They counted the remaining seconds anxiously. They were breathless when the full five minutes had gone. Clive tucked the Waterbury sadly back into his pocket and looked enquiringly at his friend.
"Give him five minutes' grace," he said.
Hugh nodded. He noticed that the firing had become almost furious. Then there was a loud and startled shout, when it ceased all of a sudden.
There was blank despair on their faces now. What better evidence could they have of Bert's downfall?