Tiptoeing, the little party, now augmented to six with the advent of the chauffeur, regained its former position. And for a moment none spoke but, instead, all strained to hear any sounds that might arise from the other side of the trap door. But no such sound was heard, nor did whistle blast or distant pistol shot come from without.
Young Harincourt stirred impatiently. Leaning close, he whispered something in Lieutenant Bracewell’s ear over which the latter seemed to ponder a moment. Then a nod of the head gave assent and Harincourt, creeping forward soundlessly, bent above the trap door.
“Great Scott,” Bob muttered voicelessly, “I’ll bet he’s persuaded Bracewell to carry out that crazy scheme. Well, if there’s any kind of battle going on in that house, it’ll be a good idea to take ’em in the rear.”
Bob’s surmise was correct. It was just such a plan which Harincourt had proposed, and to which Lieutenant Bracewell had given assent.
But even as young Harincourt bent above the trap door, there came a sound from beneath it—a fumbling, scratching sound. He fell back precipitately, and the others crowded closer. The next moment the trap began to rise. Tense with expectancy though he was, Bob smiled as the thought occurred to him that young Harincourt should have selected this of all times to launch his coup—should have waited until the very second when the enemy was preparing to emerge. For that it was the enemy, Bob had no doubt. Captain Murray and his aviators, supported by Mr. Hampton and Jack, undoubtedly had gained entrance at the front of the house. Now Ramirez and whatever men he had with him were fleeing through the underground passage. So sure of this was Bob, crouching low behind the shield afforded by the rising trap door, that he was quite prepared to see Ramirez himself climb out.
Young Harincourt and Bob, who had sprung to his side on divining the other’s intention to invade the tunnel, were the foremost members of the little party crouching with drawn weapons behind the trap door. They hardly dared to breath lest some sound escape them which would give the alarm to whoever was about to ascend. For that someone was ascending there could be no doubt. The trap door was not rising because of any supernatural agency. A man’s hand was pushing it up, and a man’s foot was scraping on the steps.
But who that man was could not be seen, for the trap door intervened. Suddenly, however, it slipped from the grasp of whoever was on the steps below and fell back on the floor, almost in the faces of Bob and Harincourt. So close did it come to them, in fact, that they swayed backward, taken by surprise.
“Hey,” cried the man on the steps, in alarm, “don’t shoot. This is your little playmate.”
And he ducked beneath the level of the floor, as he saw the leveled revolvers of the party, all pointing directly at him.
It was Captain Murray.