“Might fancy we were at home after one of our muggy days.”
“Yes; just like a London suburban fog, old fellow.”
Then there was silence for a minute, as they walked on along the terraced wall, before the one who had just spoken said in a quick whisper:
“I say, Roberts, oughtn’t there to be a sentry here?”
“I was just thinking so,” was the reply. “I hope to goodness he isn’t asleep, for I hate having to report a man for neglect.”
He had hardly whispered the words when there was the click of a rifle, a voice challenged them, and they gave the customary response.
“This is not your place, my man,” said Roberts then.
“No, sir; twenty yards farther that way. But there’s something down below then; that I can’t quite make out. It seemed to come past and on this way.”
“What! up on the ramparts?” said Drummond quickly.
“No, no, sir; right down below the face of the wall, and I come on a bit so as to follow and look down. I didn’t like to give the alarm.”