“As well look for a diamond in the bottom of the Atlantic!” snarled the other. “I have sent the men out in the search, but have no hope of their getting hold of him.”
“That’s me!” mused Jimmie. “That’s me they’re talking about trying to get hold of.”
“Well, we may as well go back to camp,” said the first speaker. “There is no profit in arguing here.”
Jimmie crept forward toward the light and saw a large, fat, smooth-faced man and a tall man with a thin face standing in a narrow chamber which seemed to have been fairly well furnished once, but which now held only decaying tables, chairs and couches. It was the tall, dark man who held the light. As Jimmie looked, he laid it down on a tottering table to make and light a cigarette.
His mind busy with a daring thought, Jimmie crept into the chamber and watched for the opportunity he sought. The men were talking together in lower tones now, and seemed to be very much interested in the subject under discussion. As they spoke, they both walked excitedly up and down the little chamber, brushing against the decaying articles of furniture whenever they by chance left the pathway shown by the light.
Jimmie advanced toward the table and finally succeeded in crawling under it. Then, waiting until they were at the farther end of their promenade, at the extreme distance from the lamp, he reached cautiously out and switched off the light.
In the darkness which followed he gave the table a slight push and sent it clattering to the floor and, with the light in his possession, darted out in the direction of the passage by which he had entered.
“Now, we’ll have a job finding that electric!” one of the men said angrily. “Light a match, will you?”
“I have just used my last match,” was the discouraging reply.
“Well, I never carry matches,” the first speaker said, “but we ought to be able to find the electric easily enough in the darkness.”