Belcher struck a bee-line for home, forgetting his basket, and though Ben gave him a hot chase he succeeded in distancing him.
Poor Roger! For some minutes after he found himself shut fast in the vault his mortal fear of being found by the two roughs left him no courage to cry out, and gave him no time to think whether he ought to blame Belcher or not.
Judging his act by his own feelings then, he could not say but he should have done the same.
But the immediate fright soon passed, and he began to feel the real misery of his situation.
Nobody but Whitmarsh knew where he was. What if he should leave him there, for the old grudge? And then it came to him how singular it was that the one on whom he depended to help him out should be just he—the boy who had threatened him.
Wearily enough passed the time to Roger down there in the dismal hole.
Neither shout nor scream would help him. No one lived within half a mile of the house; or if his cries should chance to be heard it might be Avery and Trench, and they would certainly bring him more hurt than good.
Suddenly he heard footsteps. A hand seized the trap-door and lifted it. Belcher Whitmarsh's face looked into the vault.
"Hollo," said Roger joyfully, "I thought you'd be back before long. Now let's get out of this—I've had enough of it, I'm sure."
But Belcher only grinned, showing the vacancy in his front teeth, and replied coolly: