Phil dared not speak; he felt immediate action was needed. Suddenly an inspiration came to him. He slowly and cautiously moved his hand toward where he knew his companion must be, until it rested over Sydney’s fingers. Then pressing firmly as if his friend’s hand were a telegraph key, he signaled the one word in the naval code:
“Forward.”
His companion understood and answered by a steady pressure of the hand, then followed Phil slowly and painfully over the fallen door. They dared not breathe; they must now be within arm’s length of their enemy. Sydney’s hand touched Phil. The shock of his cold touch made the overwrought lad spring to his feet, pointing his revolver menacingly. A second and the situation was grasped. They were alone in the tunnel.
“We must get O’Neil and hurry. The men may return any moment and we must avoid a fight,” whispered Phil.
By the sound of the sailor’s breathing they located his prostrate body. They lifted him carefully and picked their way back over the fallen door. They reached the opening in the cellar, thankful at saving their shipmate from the hands of these men, who would have killed him without pity if it served their ends.
“Go up first, Syd,” commanded Phil. Sydney hesitated, casting an apprehensive glance down the dark tunnel. If the men came back they could see Phil by the light from the opening above.
“Stand back,” Sydney urged, “until I am ready to help you up.”
Sydney ascended quickly. Phil made the rope fast around the body of the unconscious man, and Sydney slowly hauled O’Neil to safety.
Phil was alone in the blackness of the cellar. He strove against the fear of an unknown danger. It seemed an age before the rope was free and came swiftly back to him.
In but a moment they emerged from the house with their burden into the warm sunshine.