As he crept on quietly he glanced over his shoulder once, saw the light disappearing behind the great square, squat pillars, and then with a feeling of triumph that thrilled through him, he went cautiously up the rest of the slope, his arms outstretched, his breath held, and in momentary expectation of hearing an exclamation from the other end of the cave.
“They’ll think I’m somewhere about,” he said to himself, as he crept on, expecting to pass through an opening into daylight the next moment; but it did not turn out as he anticipated, for he stopped short with his nose against some one’s throat, his arms on each side of a sturdy body, and the arms belonging to that body gripped him tight.
“Steady, Ram, lad!” came in a gruff whisper. “Light out?”
Archy’s heart beat heavily, and he felt that, to escape, he ought to try and imitate the boy’s voice, and say “Yes.”
But he could not only stand panting, and the next instant his opportunity, if opportunity it was, had gone. For Ram’s real voice came from right at the other end, echoing along the roof.
“Look out, Jemmy. He aren’t here.”
“No, he aren’t there, lad,” said the smuggler with a laugh. “Bring your lanthorn, I’ve ketched a rat or some’at. Come and see.”
Archy made a violent struggle to escape, but the man’s arms were tight round his waist, he was lifted off the slope, and as he fully realised that, in a wrestling match, no matter how active and strong seventeen may be, it is no match for big, well-set seven-and-thirty.
“No good, youngster,” growled the smuggler, as he carried the midshipman down the slope, and held him at the bottom. “Very good idea, but you see we didn’t mean you to get out like that.”
Feeling that he was exhausting himself for nothing, Archy ceased his struggling, and was held there motionless, as Ram came up with the lanthorn to begin grinning.