He let go, and drew back out of sight. Miles, in astonishment, groped his way down to the door. A few light, scurrying sounds came from above; the turning key squeaked faintly; then all the hollow shaft was filled with silence.
He saw neither purpose nor sense in their agreement, which, the longer he waited, the less he liked. Tony’s afterthought, moreover, stuck oddly in his memory, like words at parting. He had begun to wonder what signal the sailor would give, when, sudden and deafening in that confinement, a pistol-shot rang overhead.
CHAPTER XI
THE RISK
He took the stairs at a bound, stumbling in the dark. Below, while he mounted, an uproar broke out. “Come ahead! No! I told ye! Wait, hol’ on! What, leave him? Stave ’er in!” Through it sounded another voice, clear as the ring of good metal in a brawl. “Afraid!” It was Anna, crying indignantly, “And you sent him! Grown men, afraid? Then I will without you!”
Next moment—catching his breath like a diver, at thought of what he was about to see—he surged up through the bright square. He met an equal shock of relief and bewilderment. A pair of boots lay on the floor; white layers of smoke drew thinly past the gleaming brass-work of the lamp; but except for these and the smell of gunpowder, the room was empty. The sailor—it seemed at first glance—had vanished like a goblin. But though the stair shook with hurried trampling, Miles heard above it a sharp, jerky, sawing noise, cut short just as a bight of rope, rasping double round a beam, uncoiled and flew single out at the open window. Tony was gone, then, in no flash of fire; but why had he shot off his pistol?
Before Miles could find the answer, a scuffle rose at the stair-head.
“Leave go! Let me go!” cried Anna furiously.