“I suppose so—Take care, Stan; they are savage beasts to deal with.”
“Yes, the brutes!” said Uncle Jeff; “but he need not expose himself. We’ll do the work if he hands us the tools.”
“That I shan’t!” muttered the boy, gripping sword and pistol tightly. “Father doesn’t wish me to do that.”
“Come along,” said Uncle Jeff. “Shall I lead, Noll?”
“Yes; go on.—Take care how you come, Stan. And mind this, boy: if the enemy do begin to fire, throw yourself flat on your face at once.”
“Yes, father,” was the reply; and the next minute, as Stan judged, they were standing in a wide passage, listening to the scraping, tearing noise, which sounded dull and smothered, till all at once, after a faint rustling which indicated that Uncle Jeff had unlocked, unbarred, unbolted, and thrown open a door, the cracking and tearing sounded quite loud.
“Bless ’em!” whispered Uncle Jeff, “they mean silk. Never mind; we’ll give them lead instead. Be ready! Silence! They don’t know we’re here.”
As he spoke Uncle Jeff moved towards the spot from which the noise came, and Stan felt his arm grasped above the elbow by his father and guided in one particular direction till he touched his uncle in the dark.
In the brief moments which ensued, Stan, now fully awake not only to what was going on but to the danger of his position, seemed to see a group of rough-looking, semi-savage Chinese—with whose stolid, half-cunning, half-treacherous countenances he had become acquainted during his short sojourn in port—standing just outside the office door, looking on while three or four were plying crowbars and trying to prise open the stout door, which seemed to be bravely resisting their efforts, till all at once there was a sharp crack and the falling inside of a piece of wood.
As the wood fell with a soft, clattering sound all became silent, the attacking party evidently listening for the occupants of the house to raise an alarm, or at all events to make some sign.