Again there was silence. Then, little by little, a sound reached the ears of the big man—a faint scraping—and then a murmur.
“They are coming,” said the crime specialist. “This way.”
For an instant the torch flashed to show them their way; then, safe in the shadows, they waited. A glimmer of light danced in the darkness, then it flooded a narrow space; the door to the underground passage had been opened; a man stepped into the vault. To the surprise of Scanlon he recognized the soft gentleman.
“Hello!” was Bat’s mental exclamation. “He’s here again, is he? Maybe we’ll play a return engagement; our act went big last time.”
The newcomer looked carefully about and as he was doing so a second man entered. This was the drawn man, Shaw. He turned and helped the Indian servant with the rolling chair, in which lay Alva. After this came Hirst, who had discarded both his crutch and stick, and then the landlord of the inn, with the peppery little doctor carrying some heavy tools.
“What is the time?” asked Alva in his strong voice.
“Almost ten,” replied the soft man.
“We’d better get to work at once,” spoke Alva. “Get the bars.”
“Wait,” said the soft man. “I want to have a look at the door.”
The rays of the lantern came creeping toward the five crouching in the shadow. But the edge of the illumination did not quite reach them as the man went by and softly up the step. After a little he returned; the rays lighted up the inquiring faces of those awaiting him.