“Ay, easy enough. You stop, and if you hear Allstone coming, give just one pipe, and I’ll be up directly.”
“All right. Get the hollands this time. Gently with that key.”
Hilary would have run down, but he was afraid of detection, for just then there was the harsh grating noise of a key being thrust into the big lock, the bolt creaked back, the latch was raised, and the door softly pushed open as he pressed himself back against the wall, and remained there in the darkness, almost afraid to breathe.
It was intensely dark now, even when the door was opened, and as Hilary stood there behind the door he heard some one descend, while another stood at the top, breathing hard, and evidently listening to the rustling of the man down below.
Several minutes passed, and then the man at the top of the stairs muttered impatiently, and went down two or three of the degrees.
“Pst! Dick!” he whispered.
“Ay, ay.”
“Be quick, man!”
“I can’t find ’em,” was the whispered reply. “They’ve packed the cases atop of ’em.”
“Jolterhead!” muttered the other impatiently. “Why, they’re just at the back.”