“Got it, now!” he exclaimed between shuffles. “Keep on your coats, fellows, I’ll be back in no time.”
With that the son of the Trouvilles jumped for the cross-piece in the movable wall section, drew himself up with the agility of a monkey and with equal celerity landed in the passage on the other side of the wall.
The minutes ticked away in Billy’s watch—ten—fifteen—twenty.
No sign of Henri.
“I can’t stand this much longer,” muttered Billy, never taking his eyes from the hole in the wall through which Henri had disappeared.
Reddy tried to tell Billy in French that he would go and hunt for Henri if he (Billy) would not mind.
Billy did mind. He understood Reddy’s gestures if he did not fully comprehend the language.
“When anybody goes it will be a procession, with me in the lead.”
He had hardly got this positive assertion out of his mouth when he heard something scraping in the passage, followed by the living picture of Henri framed in the opening above. Then the familiar voice:
“It’s all right, Buddy.”