“I dreamed to-day that we crawled in,” Marsh said, in a whisper—they had all learned to hear the faintest murmur of speech. “And we crawled, and crawled, and crawled: for years, it seemed. And then we saw daylight ahead, and we crawled out—in Piccadilly Circus!”
“That was ‘some’ tunnel, even in a dream,” Desmond said.
“I feel as if it were ‘some’ tunnel now,” remarked Jim—still breathing heavily.
“Yes—you’ve had a long spell, Linton. We were just beginning to think something was wrong.”
“I thought I might as well finish—and then another bit of roof fell in, and I had to fix it,” Jim answered. “Well, it won’t be gardening that I’ll go in for when I get back to Australia; I’ve dug enough here to last me my life!”
“Hear, hear!” said some one. “And what now?”
“Bed, I think,” Desmond said. “And to-morrow night—the last crawl down that beastly rabbit-run, if we’ve luck. Only this time we won’t crawl back.”
He felt within a little hollow in the earth wall, and brought out some empty tins and some bottles of water; and slowly, painstakingly, they washed off the dirt that encrusted them. It was a long business, and at the end of it Desmond inspected them all, and was himself inspected, to make sure that no tell-tale streaks remained. Finally he nodded, satisfied, and then, with infinite caution, he slid back a panel and peered out into blackness—having first extinguished their little light. There was no sound. He slipped out of the door, and returned after a few moments.
“All clear,” he whispered, and vanished.
One by one they followed him, each man gliding noiselessly away. They had donned uniform coats and trousers before leaving, and closed the entrance to the tunnel with a round screen of rough, interlaced twigs which they plastered with earth. The tins were buried again, with the bottles. Ordinarily each man carried away an empty bottle, to be brought back next night filled with water; but there was no further need of this. To-morrow night, please God, there would be no returning; no washing, crouched in the darkness, to escape the eagle eye of the guards; no bitter toil in the darkness, listening with strained ears all the while.