"Well, I can let you down in the bucket, if you care to run the risk. I've been down it myself—but I'm not a Garside fellow."
It was as much as to say that "a Garside fellow" was not capable of doing what a "St. Bede fellow" could do.
"I'd run any risk—quick! I can near them coming! Where's the well?"
It was only a few paces from where they were standing. Wyndham led the way.
"I'll let you down a little way; then draw you up again directly the men have gone—that is to say, if they should come this way."
"They are coming this way. I feel sure of it, and there's no time to lose."
"Here you are, then. Keep steady, and don't make a sound. They won't think of you stowed away down there."
Paul got into the bucket. The chain was somewhat rusty, but though it was the worse for disuse, and creaked as it was lowered, it held firm. When Wyndham had lowered Paul a short distance, he made firm the chain; so that he was suspended half-way between the water and the top. It wasn't a very pleasant situation. A dank smell came from below, and it seemed the abode of darkness as the boy above shut out the last remnant of light by placing the cover a little way over the well.
Not a moment too soon, for he had only just finished when a man darted up to him and seized him by the collar.
"Ha! Got you at last, have I? A nice chase you've led us."