The charges were fired.
Alwyn felt the floor-plates give as the whole fabric of the ship quivered under the internal impact. A waft of acrid fumes drifted into the enclosed space.
The two men exchanged glances as if to say, "Well; it's all right so far, but there's more to come."
The water was surging and hissing along the alley-way. The pantry-door, burst open by the outside pressure, was flung hard back against the bulkhead, and in an instant the two men were knee deep in water.
The level rose to their waists, and still there was no indication that the ship had settled on the bottom. The level was rising more slowly now. Without a jar the ship had touched the bed of the channel and was gradually sinking in the soft sand. Disappear she would eventually, but for the time being, perhaps for several hours, the subsidence was barely perceptible.
Then as the Donibristle listed slightly to port the level in the pantry fell a foot or eighteen inches, leaving the occupants standing nearly thigh deep in water.
Again they exchanged glances, but this time both men's faces wore a grin of satisfaction. They even chuckled softly, as they listened to the ravings of Black Strogoff and the carefully rehearsed lamentations and explanations of the boat's crew.
Half an hour later all was quiet without, save for the rattle of the rain upon the exposed portion of the deck. Black Strogoff, his assistants, and the working-parties had departed, their task accomplished; but there remained the unpromising prospect of their returning that afternoon to salve the sunken life-boat.
The downpour was a blessing in disguise. It enabled Burgoyne and his companion to talk without risk of being overheard by anyone on the cliff.
"Things'll be a bit more comfortable presently," said Minalto. "Tide'll be falling."