“Fight,” answered that worthy with great promptness.
Ethan smiled.
“Good for you, old fire eater,” he said. “So we will. There may not be so many of them after all.”
“But they are armed, and we have nothing but our bare hands,” mourned Longsword.
“But we’ll have the advantage of a surprise,” said Ethan.
All hope of this advantage, however, was blasted a moment later, for the woman, upon hearing the boy’s words, uttered a warning shriek that rang through the cellar with ear splitting shrillness.
Instantly there came a trampling of feet upon the floor above, and Meg laughed in their faces triumphantly. But the laugh had scarcely died upon her lips when Longsword pushed her into one of the open cells and closed and locked the door.
“Now, then,” cried Ethan, “let’s meet them at the foot of the stairs.”
As he spoke he kicked over the lamp, plunging the cellar into complete darkness. As they reached the foot of the stairs the door at the top opened, and the yellow rays of a candle, in the hands of Danvers, dimly lit up the narrow way. Ethan drew Longsword under the stairs out of sight.
“Hello,” called the British spy. “What is the matter?”