“How’s the enemy?” asked Easton presently, addressing no one in particular.
“Don’t know,” replied Bundy. “It must be about half past four. Ask Slyme; he’s got a watch.”
It was a quarter past four.
“It gets dark very early now,” said Easton.
“Yes,” replied Bundy. “It’s been very dull all day. I think it’s goin’ to rain. Listen to the wind.”
“I ’ope not,” replied Easton. “That means a wet shirt goin’ ’ome.”
He called out to old Jack Linden, who was still working at the front doors:
“Is it raining, Jack?”
Old Jack, his pipe still in his mouth, turned to look at the weather. It was raining, but Linden did not see the large drops which splashed heavily upon the ground. He saw only Hunter, who was standing at the gate, watching him. For a few seconds the two men looked at each other in silence. Linden was paralysed with fear. Recovering himself, he hastily removed his pipe, but it was too late.
Misery strode up.