“I’m almost certain there is. You take a look.”
“I’m not a cat,” whispered Winlock in disgust, when he had drawn his head back in his turn. “Can’t see a thing.”
“Well, I am, rather, in that way, and I believe there’s a fellow down there.”
Again he put his head into the opening, and supporting his face on his hands, concentrated all his attention on the foot of the wall. After several minutes, which seemed like hours to Winlock, he faced him again.
“There is a man down there, and his clothes are dark, so as not to show. He has put two bags against the wall, and he has crawled away to fetch another.”
“Going to blow down the tower?”
“Yes, it’s their best chance. Half gone already, you see. Well, will you clear the men off the near half of the wall, and tell the Colonel, so as to be ready for developments? I’m going to nip the villain in the bud.”
“Nonsense, he’ll knife you! And how will you get down?”
“Climb down the broken brickwork and drop.” He drew off his boots. “I shall take him by surprise. Don’t let any one fire, whatever you do. It would explode the powder at once. Be off.”
Winlock obeyed, and hurried to alarm the Colonel, after hastily calling down the sentries, the noise of whose own footsteps effectually prevented their noticing any suspicious sound. Richard St George Keeling had just received his name, and was accepting the congratulations of the representatives of the regiment on the auspicious event with his usual composure, when Winlock came into the courtyard and drew Colonel Graham aside. Before he could utter a word, however, there was an explosion which seemed to shake the very foundations of the fort, followed by the collapse of various portions of the newly-repaired defences.