He had stopped short on the landing, and we could hear a low, muttering noise, like a bass saw cutting hard leather.
Score! Score! Score! Slowly and regularly; the heavy breathing of a deep sleeper.
“I’m glad we’ve got a good watcher,” said Uncle Jack drily. “Here, Piter, dog, fetch him out. Wake him then.”
The dog understood him, for he burst into a furious fit of barking and charged up into the big workshop, and then there was a worrying noise as if he were dragging at the watchman’s jacket.
“Get out! Be off! Do you hear!”
“Hi, Searby!” roared Uncle Jack.
There was a plunge, and a rush to the door, and Searby’s big voice cried:
“Stand back, lads, or I’ll blow out thee brains.”
“What with?” said Uncle Bob; “the forge blast? There, come down.”
Searby came down quickly.