“No, no, no,” groaned Roach. “I did not see her. She must have got free somehow. I only felt her hands as she jumped upon me from behind and drove me forward on to you. Is—is the powder going off?”
“No! Get up. There isn’t a spark now. Phew! it’s enough to stifle a fellow. Where’s that wine?”
“I put it somewhere in this corner. Yes, here.”
“Give us hold. Be sharp.”
There was a clicking noise in the utter darkness and after feeling about for a few moments, the younger man grasped the bottle, drank heavily, and passed it to his trembling companion, who snatched at it and drank deeply in turn.
“That’s better,” cried Arthur, sharply. “Now then, the matches.”
“No, no, don’t strike a light. Are you mad?”
“Pretty nigh, but we must risk it or we can never get out.”
“We never shall get out alive,” groaned Roach.
“Well, I mean to,” said his companion; “so here goes. I can’t use the hammer and chisels and wedges in this blessed darkness.”