What fate the Cossacks had fixed for them was merely a matter of dreadful surmise. "Slow starvation," was Henri's unhappy guess. "Penned up in this den until we go mad," was the blood-chilling view of Schneider. "Say, you fellows give me the creeps." Billy wanted his troubles one at a time. The next one was all too near. While feeling his way around the rocky walls, Schneider settled in his tracks as though he had been shot. "Don't you hear water splashing?" For confirmation he stared blankly at the boys who had not as yet strayed away from the ladder. "Are you starting your madhouse already?" demanded Billy. "But there is water running near," insisted Schneider. "Come over here, if you don't believe it." As if to humor their friend, the boys joined him. Sure enough, the lapping sound was plainly audible at this point. Further ahead in the dim recesses of the cellar the sound was of dripping, a steady patter like rain. "Maybe they have pulled a sluice between here and the river," suggested Henri. "The fiends," muttered Schneider. "Gee!" exclaimed Billy, starting back from a forward step or two, "the floor is filling!" Stealing along, inch by inch, the water spread throughout the cellar. The prisoners retreated to the foot of the ladder and sought perches on the rungs. In case of full flood they could stave off drowning for a time by climbing higher. It was the only way. "It's a pretty tight place we're in, old man, but not for the first time, and, mind you, we have always pulled out somehow." Billy was ever ready to pass a cheering word to his chum when cheering words were most needed. Schneider's nerve was again in the ascendant, he having sufficiently abused his lack of horse sense in being so easily led into such a trap. "If I had hold of a good steel pike for a bit of an hour, there is nothing like a few planks that would keep us down here." "Yes, or a couple of axes, or a stick of dynamite, or an electric torch, and so forth," bantered Billy. While Schneider and Billy were word sparring to keep up their spirits, Henri noticed that the water on the cellar floor had pooled in the sunken spots, indicating that the pressure from without, for the time being, had largely subsided. "No need for life belts yet," he cried, "the river isn't going to come through." "And, thanks to that blessed streak of light," Billy pointing to the bull's-eye window, "we're able to see that you are right. So much for a starter." "We'll beat you yet." Schneider shook his fist at some invisible foe on the other side of the ceiling. When, however, the first flush of encouragement at the fading of the flood had dimmed, it seemed a small matter about which to rejoice. The situation appeared as hopeless as before to the imprisoned aviators. With the coming of night the one diamond in the sable setting vanished--no ray of light to slightly relieve a condition now of absolute blindness.