“Well,” said Josh, “there’s nobody doing anything here. If there was, there’d be a light. It was only echoes. Come along.”
“But if it was echoes,” said Will, “why did they leave off?”
“Not so much water coming down perhaps,” suggested Manners. “There, isn’t it nearly time to go and see if there are any more eels?”
“Hardly,” replied Will, “but some might have come down. It’s just as it happens.”
“Oh, yes,” said Josh. “Sometimes there won’t be one in a whole night, and another time there’ll be pounds and pounds in half an hour. It all depends upon whether they are on the move.”
They made for the lower door again at the bottom of the cage shed, and entered the hollow, dismal place. Will felt for the lantern after closing the door, struck a match, and, to the artist’s satisfaction, the rays fell upon several slimy, gleaming objects beyond the bars; and after a good deal of splashing, writhing, and twining themselves in knots, the prisoners were secured in a dripping basket that had been held beneath the opening formed by drawing back the little grating.
“Capital!” cried Manners, eagerly. “Why, there must be half a dozen pounds.”
“Nearer a dozen,” said Will. “Look out, Josh! Hit that chap over the head, or he’ll be out.”
Josh struck at the basket-lid, but a big, serpent-like creature had half forced its way through, to be down on the wet stone floor the next moment, making at once for the water a couple of yards away.
“Stop him, Mr Manners! It’s the biggest one. I can’t leave the basket.”