Cavendish smiled.
"I have had some experience," he said.
"Then," the girl added, "you had better take the revolver. I never fired one except on the Fourth of July, and I would not want to trust to my marksmanship in a pinch. Not that we will meet any such situation, Mr. Cavendish—I hope we do not—but in case we do I want to depend upon you."
"I am glad you said that, Miss Donovan; it gives me courage."
The girl handed the revolver over to him without a word and then held out the cartridge belt. He snapped open the weapon to assure himself it was loaded and then ran his fingers over the belt pockets.
"Thirty-six rounds," adjusting the belt to his waist; "that ought to promise a good fight. Do you feel confidence in me again?"
"Yes," she answered, her eyes lifting to meet his. "I trust you."
"Good. I am not a very desperate character, but will do the best I can. Shall we try the passage?"
"Yes. It is the only hope."
"All right then; I'll go first, and you follow as close as possible.
There mustn't be the slightest sound made."