There was a sharp rustling noise, and the loud tramp of feet overhead; and then the captain’s voice was heard once more out of the darkness.
“Quick there! Where is Dutch Pugh? The scoundrels are coming down.”
The noise overhead increased as Dutch tore himself from his wife’s arms, and hurried to join the defenders; but the captain’s words were premature, as, after a few minutes, the sounds seemed to go forward once more and almost to cease, and just then Rasp’s voice was heard.
“I’ve been having a rummage about, and here’s two or three tools to go on with. S’pose you take this, Mr Pug, it’s your shark knife; and here’s one for you, Mr Parkley, and one for the captain. Is there any gent as would like an axe?”
“Give it to me,” said the doctor. “Have you anything for yourself?”
“Only another chopper,” said the old fellow, “but it’s as sharp as a razor.”
The diving implements in Rasp’s cabin had been forgotten by all save him, and these he now passed round, sending a thrill of satisfaction through all present, for it was like doubling their strength; and, as they all, well-armed now, stood round the door, there was a rush of feet overhead, the sound of curses, a heavy fall, and those below felt mad with rage at being unable to go to the aid of some one who was evidently fighting on their side, when there was a tremendous crash, and something heavy fell through the skylight to the floor by their side.
In an instant Dutch sprang upon the man who had fallen through, held his knife at his throat, and hissed,—
“If you stir, you’re a dead man. Stand ready to strike down the next one who comes through,” he added to his friends.
“Who’s a-going to stir?” said a surly voice. “I’m too beat out. There, you needn’t be skeared; no one else won’t come down that way.”