He and Corder now began to work steadily, while the others rested and watched them. The moon shone brightly, and a mound of earth and stone increased beside the hole they dug. Presently Gregory and Bartley took a turn; but the latter had not dug five minutes when Daniel snatched his spade from him and continued the work himself. “I can’t stand watching you,” he said. “Such weak hands I never seed in my life. A man would be rotten long afore his grave was dug, if you had the digging.” “I works with the intellects,” answered Mr Bartley. “My calling in life is higher than a sexton’s, I hope.” After another period of labour, Corder took the inspector’s place, and soon the aperture gaped two feet deep. “That’s it; now we’ve got to sink to the left,” explained Sweetland. “We run another two feet under this here ledge and then we come to the stuff.” Now he was working with Gregory again and the moment for action had arrived. Opportunity had to be made, however, and Daniel’s escape depended entirely upon Mr Corder’s answer to his next question. He knew that with the giant present his plans must fail; but if Corder could be induced to go aside, Daniel felt that the rest was not difficult. “Can’t see no more,” he said. “If you’ll fetch one of the gig lamps, Mr Corder, us will know where we are. You’ll want the lamp in a minute anyway, when we come to the plate, for ’twas all thrown loose into the earth.” Without answering, the big policeman fell into the trap. He had to go nearly three hundred yards for the lamp, and, allowing him above a minute for that journey, Daniel Sweetland made his plunge for liberty. Suddenly, without a moment’s warning, he turned upon Gregory as the inspector bent beside him, and struck the man an awful blow with his spade full upon the top of the head. “Sorry, Greg!” he cried, as the officer fell in a heap, “but if I’ve got to swing, it shall be for something, not nothing.” Even as he spoke Daniel had reached to the length of his rope and collared Bartley. The strong man he had struck senseless according to his intention; the weak one he now prepared to deal with. Bartley screamed like a hunted hare, for he supposed that his hour was come. Then Daniel saw the distant light leap forward. Only seconds remained, and only seconds were necessary. “Be quiet and hand me your knife, or I’ll smash your skull in too!” he shouted to the shaking policeman; then he stretched for the handcuffs, which Corder had put on a stone beside him, and in a second Luke Bartley found himself on the ground beside his colleague. A moment later and he was chained to the recumbent and senseless person of the inspector, while Daniel knelt beside him and extracted from his pocket the knife he now required. With this he cut the rope that held him prisoner and, during the ten seconds that remained, before Mr Corder rushed upon the scene, Daniel had put forty yards of darkness between himself and his guards.