“Try another, sir.”
Roy felt less compunction in lifting the second, and this being replaced, he began to sound others with his knuckles, to find that they all gave forth the same dull dead note.
“That’s all we want to know down here, Master Roy,” said the old soldier at last; “and now I think we’d better get back and take a couple of the little kegs with us. I’d take one from each side, sir. You pass ’em to me and I’ll carry ’em up safely. It wouldn’t do to drop one in case it should go off.”
These words, lightly spoken, made Roy thrill as he lifted down one of the kegs, getting his fingers tightly fitted to the ends, and then stood there in the black darkness, afraid to stir for fear he should strike his elbow against anything and jerk the keg to the floor.
“Got him, sir?”
“Yes,” said Roy, hoarsely. “Whereabouts are you?”
“Here, just at the door, sir; I haven’t moved,” was the reply.
“Reach out your hands, then, and take hold very carefully. Tell me when you’ve got it tight.”
“Tight hold,” said Ben, the next moment.
“Sure?”