“Dunno yet, sir,” panted the sergeant, whose voice sounded broken and strange. “Something awfully wrong, sir.”
“Speak out, man! What do you mean?” whispered Lennox, whose heart now began to beat heavily.
“I’ve come upon something down here, sir.”
“Ah! The thief—asleep?”
“No, sir,” said the sergeant, and his fingers were heard fumbling with the fastening of the lantern.
“What are you doing, man? Why don’t you speak?”
“Making sure the light’s quite out, sir. Can’t speak for a moment—feel choking.”
“Then you hear the enemy approaching?”
“No, sir.—Ha! It’s quite out! Now, sir, just you go down on one knee and feel.”
“I don’t understand you, sergeant,” whispered Lennox; but all the same he bent down on one knee and felt about with his right hand, fully expecting to touch a heap of the stolen grain.