"I wish we had a light." But light there was none, and the fitful gleams of the wandering moon served only to make the darkness darker.
Once, as it floated clear for an instant, I caught sight of the bed, and a chair, and some withered flowers on the floor, left there, no doubt, since the day of the funeral.
Next moment all was dark again.
Tim had used the gleam to find the door, and I heard him call me.
"Come away.

Keep your hand on the wall and feel with your feet for the stairs.

It's down below the arms will be." I am sure, had he looked, he would have been able to see the whiteness of my face through the darkness; but he was better employed.
"Here it is," he said.

"Now keep your hand on the rail and go gently down." "How'll we find our way back to the ladder ?" said I.
"We've to get our guns first," said he, shortly.
When we reached the bottom of the stairs, we seemed to be in a passage or hall that went right and left.
In the plight in which we were it mattered little which turn we took, so Tim turned to the right, feeling along by the wall, with me close at his heels.

Cautiously as we trod, our footsteps seemed to echo along the corridor, till often enough, with my heart in my mouth, I stopped short, certain I heard some one following.