There came the sound of footsteps, then all was quiet below.
“We’ll give them an hour,” Sanborn whispered. “You haven’t a flashlight, Bill?”
“No—why?”
“There’s no other way of seeing the hands of my wristwatch to gauge the time. These matches blow out—”
“Don’t worry, sir. My dial is luminous. Wait till I rub some of the soot off—great grief! it’s after eleven! We’ve been here nearly two hours.”
“Well, we’ll wait until midnight. Let’s get up on the junction of the shafts, it will be more comfortable. My back and knees are half paralyzed.”
They pulled themselves up and squeezed into the narrow space, seated side by side.
“The old boy,” Bill observed, “certainly has a screw loose—but what do you think is in back of it all?”
“I don’t know, my boy. But I think we’d better be quiet. We might be heard if we keep on talking—and I’ve got to straighten out a lot of things in my mind and try to plan what our next three or four moves will be.”
“O.K. I’m terribly tired, guess I’ll snatch forty winks.”