“Then let the carpenters take down the top plank of one of the doors, sir; it’s only screwed, and we can see everything then. If they begin with their spears, a volley from our pistols will drive them back till the board is screwed on.”
“But I don’t believe that any one can be upstairs after all,” cried Stan impatiently. “How foolish to have all the windows closed up without leaving a hole!”
“Hasn’t proved very foolish, sir,” said the lieutenant dryly, “according to my ideas. Holes for us to peep out at mean places for the enemy to send spears through. Where we could reach from inside they could get at from outside.”
“Listen,” said Stan; and for nearly five minutes silence was maintained, without a sound being heard.
“There!” whispered Stan triumphantly; “do you mean to tell me that the enemy would be able to keep as still as that if they were up there?”
“I’m afraid they would if they had laid a trap for us.”
“Oh, impossible!” replied Stan.
“Perhaps you are right, sir,” said the lieutenant; “but I’ve been working out here in China for the last twenty years, mixing with the people and learning their ways, and I’m ready to say that they’re about the most artful beggars under the sun.”
“Then you really believe that they are upstairs in hiding?”
“I do, sir. What is it they want to do?”