“All right, sir; that’ll hold you safe.”
“What are you going to do, Dickenson?” said Roby, in a voice that did not sound like his own.
“I don’t know,” cried the young officer, with a curious hysterical ring in his voice. “Go down.—See when I get below.—Now then, quick!—Lower away.—Fast!”
He began gliding down the sharp slope directly after.
“Faster!” shouted Dickenson before he was half-way down; and the sergeant let the rope pass through his hands as quickly as he could with safety let it go, while the lanterns lit up the glistening sides with weirdly-strange, flickering rays, till the rope was nearly all out and Dickenson stopped with a sudden jerk.
“Got him?” shouted Roby.
“No!” came up in a despairing groan. “I’m on a dripping ledge. Lower me a few feet more till I call to you to stop.”
The sergeant obeyed, and the call came directly after. For there was a splash and the lights disappeared—not extinguished, but they seemed to glide under a black projection that stood out plainly as a rugged edge against the light, which made the water flash and sparkle as it could be seen gliding swiftly by.
“Well?” shouted Roby again.
“Hold on with the rope,” came up. “The water’s close up to the foot of the lanterns. If you let it any lower they will go out.”