He broke off short in his half spoken meditations.
A sudden sound had arrested his attention. At first he could not identify it and then suddenly he realized what it was. The tinkle of running water! Water was coming into the cellar from somewhere.
Ned stretched out his fingers for his matchbox, which he had placed near to him, and struck a light. As the lucifer flared up an exclamation of dismay broke from the Dreadnought Boy's lips.
"Good gracious!"
Over the floor of the cellar a thin layer of water, perhaps an inch deep, had spread like a liquid carpet. It had not yet reached Herc on his pile of sails, but even while the match burned, he could see that the water was rising.
Chilled with a nameless dread he struck another match. This time he saw where the water was coming from. It was flowing in from an iron-barred vent near the floor of the place, which had escaped him on his previous survey.
At the same instant, Herc thought of the green stain on the cellar walls; that regular line of demarcation limned with greenish water-weed.
Then like a thunder-clap the hideous truth burst upon him: The cellar was below the water level and the water flowing into it was tidal. It came from the sea and rose till it reached that regular high-water mark he had noticed on the cellar wall.
As he realized all this, a shout of terror broke, despite himself, from Herc's lips. Was this to be his fate, his destiny, to perish in this dark, hidden place beneath the waters of the incoming tide?
"Help!" he shouted at the top pitch of his lungs. "Help!"