Suddenly there was a tiny glow at the base of the drill.
“Quick with the punk,” said Phil eagerly.
Nobody could see the move, but nevertheless Dan dropped a pinch of the dry shredded wood on the tiny brilliance.
The bright spot grew larger, the drill whirled more rapidly, a few more pinches of punk were applied, and the glow burst into a flame.
“Now, the candle,” Phil directed, but even as he spoke the wick of one of the illuminants was being applied to the burning punk.
Phil seized the lighted candle and started for the open trap-doorway.
“I’m going downstairs and see what I can find,” he announced, holding his coat lapel over the flame. “All of you stand close together and help keep any rays of this candle from getting to any of the windows.”
“How about the basement windows?” asked one of the men. “How’re you going to keep the light from shining through them?”
“I’ll have to run a little risk on that account,” Phil replied; “but I’ll shield the light all I can with my coat and when I get down there I’ll set it in a corner where it can’t be seen through the window or windows, if possible.”
The boy descended slowly, and the others, or such of them as could obtain a view at once through the opening in the floor, gazed eagerly after him. They were unable to see much, however, for he covered the light with the lapel of his coat so carefully that the entire illumination fell directly in front of him.