“Where does that staircase lead, sir?” said the sergeant, as his task drew near its end.
“Attics in the roof,” said Waller. “Up you go.”
“Well, sir, I am getting rather tired of this job,” said the man, hesitating.
“Oh, but you have got it to do. Finish it off,” said Waller carelessly; and he made way for the soldiers to pass up, and stood below swinging himself to and fro, balancing himself toe and heel.
“Come on, my lads,” said the sergeant. “Forward, and be smart. I am thinking that crust of bread and cheese must be ready by now.”
The men laughed good-humouredly, and the bare staircase creaked and groaned beneath their heavy tread, which directly afterwards made the upper passage, with its sloping ceiling, which followed the shapes of the gables, echo.
That part of the search was quickly done, not so quickly that it did not give time to Waller to whistle the stave of the old Hampshire ditty three times over.
He had just got to the last bar for this third time when the butt of the sergeant’s musket was dropped with a heavy bang upon the floor overhead.
“Beg pardon, sir,” he shouted down to Waller. “There’s one of these ’ere doors locked!”
“Eh?” cried Waller, whose face now looked scarlet, and who stood for a moment or two holding his breath.