But Billy did not sneeze; he nearly suffocated, though, by holding his cap so closely against his face.
The soldier had apparently exhausted his supply of matches, for the final scratch was accompanied by a grunt that sounded like sacres allumettes, blasted matches.
With that he swung himself down into the passage on the other side of the opening.
Billy, after a few minutes’ wait, made a move toward the opening.
Henri laid a restraining hand upon Billy’s arm.
“Wait a bit,” he whispered, “better let Reddy do his shadow act and find out where our friend in the red trousers has taken himself.”
Reddy instantly shifted his heavily laden knapsack from his shoulders, removed his gold-filled jacket, kicked off his shoes, and edged his way along the wall on tiptoes.
Under the opening he stood in listening attitude for several minutes; then, taking advantage of the rough stonework of the inside wall, he climbed like a squirrel to the cross-piece.
Cautiously poking his head through the opening, Reddy had another look and listened for his fellow countryman in uniform.
The soldier was nowhere to be seen—and Reddy could view the short passage as far as the foot of the spiral staircase, where the light came down from the open plate above.