“They’re gone, Cob,” said my uncle.
“Shall we run after them?” I said.
“It would be madness,” he replied. “Down, Piter! Quiet, good dog!”
“Now what’s the meaning of it all?” he said after turning the light round the place. “What did you hear? Were they getting in?”
“No,” I said; “they were trying to draw this canister on to the fire with the wire; but I heard them and got hold of it.”
Uncle Jack turned the light of the bull’s-eye on to the canister I held, and then turned it off again, as if there were danger of its doing some harm with the light alone, even after it had passed through glass.
“Why, Cob,” he said huskily, “did you get hold of that?”
“Yes, I stopped it,” I said, trembling now that the excitement had passed.
“But was the fuse alight?”
“No,” I said; “they were going to draw it over the fire there, only I found it out in time.”