“Whew!” muttered Bob White. “This waiting here for something to happen gives me a creepy feeling. I only wish we knew that they weren’t armed to the teeth and could only pitch in and run the risk of a good fight. I’d like to try a good football tackle, just to keep my nerves from going to pieces.” “I wouldn’t care much to be waiting for them down in that cellar,” said Henry Burns. “They’re likely to prove ugly customers when they find themselves trapped,—but I’ll risk Miles Burton to keep his head. He’s the kind of man for this sort of thing—” “Sh-h-h,” interrupted George Warren, softly. “I hear their voices. There’s two of them, I think, talking. Yes, here they come. Lie low, now.” A head appeared at the top of the ladder, and then a man sprang up on to the brow of the bluff. It was the man whom they had known as Mr. Kemble, but whom they now knew as Craigie. He was followed by another man, somewhat taller than he. The two came up the path together, talking earnestly. At a certain point in the path they paused, and Craigie stepped aside and found the spade where he had hidden it in the brush. Then they went on toward the haunted house. The boys’ hearts beat fast and hard as the men passed close by where they lay hidden. Surely two men who would lie in wait in the old house for these two must possess good nerve and courage. For the boys’ part, they were glad to be outside. “Listen,” whispered Henry Burns, softly; “the tall one is downright angry with our friend Kemble. He’s pitching into him for something.” It was evident that Craigie’s newly arrived friend was in a bad humour. He spoke angrily, and no longer in a low tone, but gruff and loud enough to be heard some distance away. “What a fool you must have been, Craigie,” they heard him say, “to hide the jewels away in this tumble-down old place, when you could have hidden them well enough on your own person. It’s all well enough to say they’re safer here, but such an act might have attracted attention.” “It might,” whispered Henry Burns. “And here we are,” continued the tall man, “fooling away our time in this outlandish hole, climbing ledges and stumbling through woods, when we ought to be out in the middle of the bay by this time, clear of this place. There was the wind, holding on through the night, just opportune for us, and all you needed to do was to step aboard, if you had been ready, and off we should have gone, without dropping a sail.” “Well, well, French,” answered Craigie, impatiently, but trying to mollify his companion, “we’ve got time enough. Don’t worry about that. You would have blamed me bad enough if the jewels had been found on me. Supposing I had had to tell you they’d been stolen, what would you have done? Would you have believed it, or would you say I had stolen them from you myself?”