“Seafowl ahoy!”
There was silence for a few moments; then came the inspiring sound of some one struggling through the tangled growth and splashing over the mud and water—sounds which were followed by—
“Where away there? Ahoy!”
“Here! Is that you, Tom May?” shouted Murray, and from not far from the foot of the cypress where the lad clung there was a wallowing sound and a splash in the water which sent a wave-like movement across the little lake at the end of the tunnel.
“Tom May it is, sir! Where are you?”
“Up here in this fir-like tree, Tom. Where’s Titely?”
“What, ain’t you got him along o’ you, sir?”
“No! I haven’t seen him since we parted. Haven’t you any notion where he is?”
“Not a haporth, sir. I on’y hope he arn’t gone through.”
“Gone through!” cried Murray, in horror.