People seemed to be doing something more, far in the passage, which evoked the sharply spoken words of their leader; but what it was the boys could not make out, though they heard a strange clinking, as of pieces of iron being struck together, and then there was a loud clang, as if a crowbar or marlinspike had fallen upon the stony floor.
“Ah, bête with the head of an Anglais cochon—pig! You always have ze finger butter. Now, en avant, go on—dépêchez, make haste.”
There was the sound of footsteps, the shuffling over stones, as if the men were not accustomed to the way; and then the light rapidly grew more feeble, and finally died out.
“Phew!” sighed Vince, expiring loudly and blowing away the sand which had trickled about his lips, but not without first more firmly closing his eyes.
“Hist!” whispered Mike; and then he sputtered a little and whispered the one word “Sand.”
There was no need to say more; the one word expressed his position, and Vince knew all he suffered, for the sand was trickling inside his jersey round the neck, and if he had not raised his head a little it would have been in his eyes, of which he naturally had a horror.
The two boys lay perfectly still in their corner, listening with every sense upon the strain; and for some little time the movements of the men could be heard very plainly, every step, every stone that was dislodged sending its echo whispering along the narrow passage as a voice runs through a speaking tube.
At last all seemed so still that they took heart to whisper to each other.
“What shall we do, Cinder?” said Mike.
“I don’t know, unless we go through into the other cave.”