"We are anxious for all of us," explained Alan.
"And mebbe anxious fur something else," sneered the marshal. "I reckon a peek in the dark ain't agoin' to hurt no one—an' it may help some."
"Drop on your face, Alan," whispered Ned, "and lie flat."
It was the only precaution they could take. Both felt that all their plans might end in a moment. But Ned could not resist watching—even though his face was close to the floor. He saw Jellup examine each key, guess the right one at once and then insert it in the lock. Yet, despite his assumed bravado, it was apparent that the man had considerable apprehension. For, before he turned the lock, he motioned to Domingo to retire further with the candle.
Finally, as if summoning his courage, the avaricious marshal snapped the key, threw back the catches on each end of the crate and then slowly and gingerly and at arm's length began to lift the lid. With the top an inch ajar he paused, waited a moment or two, and then began sniffing as if searching for an odor.
Ned saw him.
"It doesn't smell," he explained quickly, "but it's there. Look out!"
"Don't smell!" retorted Jellup. "Gas as don't smell? Well, that's agoin' some, I guess."
Nevertheless, he had dropped the lid.
But as quickly recovering himself he reached forward again and with a quick motion threw the top up and sprang back.