“How much more rope have you?” said the sergeant in a whisper.
“’Bout a dozen feet,” said the man who was passing it to him from behind.
“Swing the lantern to and fro,” cried the captain sharply.
“It won’t swing, sir,” replied the sergeant. “If I try, it will only roll over on to its face.”
“Never mind; you haven’t tried. Now swing it,” cried Roby.
“Bottom,” cried the sergeant, for the lantern stopped short, and down beneath it there was a flash and a quivering reflection, showing that it was close to the flowing water.
“What is it resting on?” said Lennox eagerly, for he had forgotten the snub he had received and was all eagerness to help. “I didn’t hear it click on rock.”
“Just what I was thinking, sir,” replied the sergeant, lifting the suspended lantern again and letting it descend once more.
“I wish to goodness, Mr Lennox, that you would not keep on interfering,” cried Captain Roby angrily.—“Now, sergeant, what do you make out?”
“Rests on something soft, sir. No; it’s hit against something hard. Why, it’s metal—a buckle.”