There was no reply.
“Norman—Rifle—Tim?” cried the captain in horrified tones.
“Yes, father! Yes, uncle!” cried the boys excitedly.
“Then it’s the black! But I don’t understand. How was it?”
“Mine hear black fellow come down along,” said Shanter, quickly. “Mine make black fellow go up along. You pidney?”
“What, down the chimney?”
“Yohi. Make plenty fire, baal come along down.”
“Wait a minute,” said the captain quickly, and they heard him go into the other room. Then there was the sharp striking of flint and steel, a shower of sparks, and the face of the captain was faintly visible as he blew one spark in the tinder till it glowed, and a blue fluttering light on the end of a brimstone match now shone out. Then the splint burst into flame as voices were heard inquiring what it all meant.
“Back into your room!” thundered the captain.
As he spoke, thud, thud, thud, came three heavy knocks at the door in front, which were answered by Uncle Jack’s gun rapidly thrust through the slit left for defence, out of which a long tongue of flame rushed as there was a sharp report, and then silence.