Nothing! Or was that the echo of a maniac laugh.
"Get away, you hairy devil," he yelled. "I have a gun here."
No answer. Yet the blackness was peopled with horrors. Was he going crazy? He mustn't give 'way. Britishers have been in more ticklish spots than his and come out on top; England expects every man to ... to pull himself together in an emergency. There must be some way out of this maze.
"Tom," he whispered, "hand me your flashlight."
"Sorry, Mister Johnny," the answer came; "it was broken when they killed me."
"Oh, that's right. I forgot you were dead, Tom. Can you help me out of this mess?"
"Sorry, Mister Johnny. But dying isn't so bad though, honestly—"
"England expects ... England expects...." Jonathan Robertson 7th was fighting hard to retain his sanity.
There came a chuckling sound ... not ten feet away now.
Light! Light! His shaking hands sought his pockets. Ah! Matches!