"Scuratoff had no rope," said the Russian. "He must have gone down to the ledge with this. Now tell me if I was right, barin."
"Hold your tongue, fool! The candle throws no light downward. Let it down over the edge."
Fastening it to the rope, the posselentsy paid the latter slowly out. A dash of spray from the waterfall extinguished the flame.
"Pull it up again!" cried Sowinski with a curse. Jack felt instinctively that the man was at a white heat of baffled rage.
Once more the candle, lighted after some trouble, was lowered. This time it escaped a wetting. The Russian stretched himself on his face and peered over.
"I can see nothing. Bozhe moï! They are not there."
He rose slowly and clumsily, pulling up the rope with the candle at the end. Then he turned and faced the Pole, and by the sputtering light Jack saw the look of silly amazement on his face.
"What did I tell you, you clumsy, hulking fool!" cried Sowinski through set teeth. "You've bungled it; idiot that you are. Why, why, I repeat, didn't you take my hint and do for them outright?"
"If it comes to that," replied the man, red with sullen anger, "why didn't you do it yourself? You wanted to run no risks; you wanted it done cheap; did you think I'd chance another twenty years in the prison yonder for two hundred roubles? No, I wouldn't do it. This was your plan; your plan, to save a few paltry roubles. I'd have cracked their heads if you'd made it worth my while; you've only yourself to blame."
"Yes, I was a fool to trust the thing to a sheep-headed lout like you."