“Just hope that the ground doesn’t shift and unearth them. We will find some way out of it. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. "Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance. Disappointment flickered in Gerald’s chest, and he did not hesitate to speak his mind, unable to help a reproachful note. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault.
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