“Fasting doesn’t do old Cantankerous any good,” said Dickenson in a half-whisper.
“Quiet! Quiet! He’ll be hearing you and getting worse,” said Lennox.
“Impossible!” grunted Dickenson. “He wants a week’s good feeding or a fit of illness to do him good. He’s going sour all over.”
The sergeant did not overtake the party till they were close upon the entrance to the cave, where a sentry was pacing up and down; and now a sudden thought struck Roby.
“Here, sergeant,” he cried angrily as the latter hurried up, rather breathless with his exertions. “How are we to get into the place? You haven’t brought a crowbar to move the stone.”
“No, sir. Left it hidden close by last night.”
“Oh!” grunted Roby, halting the men; while the sergeant handed the coil of rope to one of them, who slipped it on over head and one shoulder, to wear it like a scarf; and James went on a few yards to a crack in the side of the rocky wall, thrust in his arm, drew out the bar, and trotted back to the opening, inserted the chisel, and raised the stone about an inch, when it turned upon its pivot directly.
“Wonderfully well made,” said Dickenson. “One might have passed it a hundred times.”
“Silence in the ranks!” cried Roby sternly; and the sergeant stepped into the dark hole at once, placed his hands one on either side of his lips, and gave a tremendous hail.
All listened to the shout, which went echoing through the passages and chambers of the cavern; but there was no reply, nor yet to half-a-dozen more hails.