“Thought somebody throwed it,” growled the man, as he resumed his task of withdrawing the screws till the last was out, and placed close to the bath, on the floor.
“Sure that’s all?” said the sergeant.
The man ran his finger along the edge of the bath lid, uttered a grunt, and drew back toward the door by which he had entered.
“Lift up the lid, man—lift up the lid,” said the sergeant, directing the lantern so that the grain of the new-looking wood glistened and seemed full of golden and ruddy brown depths of shadow, among which the light seemed to play.
“Do you hear?” he said. “Lift up the lid.”
The man made no answer, but ran his hand over his moist forehead, and still backed toward the door, where Stratton and Guest were standing. Then, as they drew aside to let him pass:
“Precious hot in there,” he growled.
“Look here, Jem,” said the sergeant; “don’t leave a fellow in the lurch. Come on.”
Thus adjured, the man turned back and held out his hand.
“It ain’t my work,” he said in a hoarse whisper; “I’ve done my bit. But I’ll hold the light for you, if you like.”