Chapter Twenty Four.
The Cave’s Mouth.
As soon as they were outside, Cyril looked round for the birds, expecting to see them swooping about in all directions, but there was nothing visible between him and the stars; and with the peculiar nervous feeling which he had felt in the cavern assailing him again, he turned to the colonel, who laughed.
“Well,” he said, “did you think it was something of what the Scotch call ‘no canny,’ my lad?”
Cyril felt more uncomfortable still.
“Do you think they really were birds?” he said.
“Of course; the South American cave-bird. A regular nocturnal creature.”
“What! a sort of owl, sir?”