“Unfasten it, and go in and tell them that all is safe once more.”
“Won’t you go?” I asked, as I offered him the lantern.
“No,” he replied, after making an effort to master his anxiety to take the lead. “You and Mr Denning were on friendly terms. He would rather receive the good news from you. In with you quick, and tell him that if he feels strong enough, I—that is, Mr Brymer would be glad if he would come and help to keep watch over the prisoners.”
“With a rewolver,” growled Bob Hampton.
“Yes, say with a pistol,” said Mr Frewen. “He would be as effective there as a strong man.”
“Better,” growled Bob, “for he understands fire-arm tools, and knows how to shoot.”
I gave a sharp knock at the door, and then unfastened it and entered, lantern in hand, to see Mr Denning looking ghastly as the light fell upon his face, where he stood before his sister with a tiny revolver in his hand, while the other was behind him holding the poor girl whom he was ready, poor weak creature that he was, to defend as long as he had life.
They had been so long in darkness that the light of the lantern, feeble as it was, dazzled them, and they could not see who it was.
Before I had time to speak Mr Denning cried fiercely—
“Keep back, scoundrel, or I’ll fire!”