“Looks very much like a deep cellar,” said Sandy, with a sharp intake of breath. “But what was it used for?”
Dick lit a match in an effort to see below. The tiny flame flared up for a moment, then went out. A second, third and fourth match——
“No use!” impatiently Dick threw the box to the floor and sat down with his feet dangling through the trap. “There’s a draft coming up out of here. Wish I had my old pocket light.”
“Move aside,” ordered Sandy. “I’m going down.”
“It may be deep,” objected Dick. “Let’s get a pole and find out.”
He had risen to go outside for the pole, when Sandy pushed quickly forward, swung out over the trap and let himself down to his full length, holding on by his hands.
“Don’t let go!” warned Dick, swinging around abruptly. “You don’t know what’s down there. Be careful, Sandy!”
Sandy grinned up provokingly, like a young ape bent on mischief, released his grip on the floor and disappeared forthwith. A low thud, coming up from below, attested to the fact that he had reached bottom. Toma’s annoyed grunt and Dick’s terrified exclamation, preceded a short but oppressive silence.
Was Sandy hurt? Pale and trembling, Dick stared into the black pit beneath and attempted to call out. His breath seemed to rattle in his throat.
“Are you hurt?” he finally contrived to squeak.