“He’s moving around down there,” murmured Neale, for he could see that Ruth was under a nervous strain, and he thought perhaps that a little talk might relieve her.
“Yes,” she answered. “I hope he doesn’t get cut on the broken glass jars from the swinging shelf. I must tell him. Oh, Luke!” she called down the cellar stairs.
“Yes? What is it?” he asked, his voice showing that he had not yet moved far away from the foot of the flight.
“Be careful of the broken glass.”
“I will—thank you.”
“See anything yet, old man?” asked Neale.
“No. Not a thing. The outside back cellar door is open, though,” he said, “and the rain’s coming in there in a regular stream.”
“Oh, dear!” murmured Ruth. “I suppose those children left it open when they were treasure-hunting!”
“I’ll shut it,” volunteered Luke.
Neale and Ruth could hear him moving about below them. Neale was just going to say that perhaps, after all, nothing would develop, that they would have all their fears for nothing, when Agnes, Nalbro and Hal came back from the front door.