“It’s a cellar,” exclaimed Phil from his knees, his head peering beneath the level of the floor; “we must go down.”
Some of the soldiers brought a rope and knotted it; the dangling end led down to the earth floor of the cellar.
The boys with revolvers tightly grasped descended quickly, their hearts beating wildly, until their feet struck the earth twenty feet below them.
The light from above threw a glimmer about the mouldy cavern. There was no one there.
“The guns,” Sydney whispered suddenly, clutching Phil’s arm and pointing to a corner of the cellar. There was a large pile of some objects covered carefully with canvas. A closer observation showed Sydney was right. The machine guns and many boxes of ammunition were stored under that large expanse of canvas.
The lieutenant and five of his men slid down on the rope, their rifles rattling menacingly; the other men remained at the top of the hole ready to haul the men up from below when necessary.
“The blood leads down that tunnel,” Phil cried in alarm. “Two men could stand off two dozen in that place—but we must attempt it. Come on, Syd.”
Carrying the light they cautiously advanced, the soldiers slowly bringing up the rear.
“A door,” Sydney whispered as the dim light of the lantern showed the tunnel ending in a heavy partition of wood.
Calling the soldiers forward, the party flung themselves against the door, but it had doubtless been built for just such a purpose and withstood each successive attempt.