“Ay, ay, sir.”
“You both stay where you are; I’m going to crawl up to the mouth of the hole, and speak to Vores.”
“Nay, stay where you are,” cried Hardock. “It may be an hour before the charge is fired. We don’t know what trouble he has to get it to—”
A deafening roar broke Hardock’s speech in two; and to Gwyn it seemed as if he had received a violent blow on both ears at once. Then in a dull, distant way he heard pieces of stone rattling, and there was perfect silence; the wind had ceased to roar and whistle, and Gwyn began to struggle, for he felt as if a hand had suddenly clutched his throat, and he knew he was suffocating.
The next moment there was a rush and roar again; the air that had been compressed and driven back rebounded, as it were, rushing through the open cavity, and Gwyn felt that he could breathe again.
“Where are you?” cried Hardock; and now Gwyn realised that the explosion had put out the light.
“Here. Where’s Joe Jollivet?”
“I’m here,” panted the lad. “I couldn’t breathe for a bit. Think the block’s blown away?”
“I’m going to feel,” replied Gwyn. “Here!” he cried, excitedly, “the floor’s covered with pieces of broken stone; but I can’t find my way. Yes, all right; I can feel the way in.”
“Mind you don’t get wedged in with the bits, my lad,” cried Hardock, excitedly. “Here, let me go first.”