"Not so much water coming down perhaps," suggested Manners. "There, isn't it nearly time to go and see if there are any more eels?" "Hardly," replied Will, "but some might have come down. It's just as it happens." "Oh, yes," said Josh. "Sometimes there won't be one in a whole night, and another time there'll be pounds and pounds in half an hour. It all depends upon whether they are on the move." They made for the lower door again at the bottom of the cage shed, and entered the hollow, dismal place. Will felt for the lantern after closing the door, struck a match, and, to the artist's satisfaction, the rays fell upon several slimy, gleaming objects beyond the bars; and after a good deal of splashing, writhing, and twining themselves in knots, the prisoners were secured in a dripping basket that had been held beneath the opening formed by drawing back the little grating. "Capital!" cried Manners, eagerly. "Why, there must be half a dozen pounds." "Nearer a dozen," said Will. "Look out, Josh! Hit that chap over the head, or he'll be out." Josh struck at the basket-lid, but a big, serpent-like creature had half forced its way through, to be down on the wet stone floor the next moment, making at once for the water a couple of yards away. "Stop him, Mr Manners! It's the biggest one. I can't leave the basket." "And I can't leave the light," said Josh; but, as they spoke, the artist was in full pursuit, seeing as he did that a delicious morsel was going to save itself from being turned into human food. There was a quick trampling faintly heard on the wet stone floor, followed by a rush, a glide, a heavy bump, and a roar of smothered laughter. "Yes, it's all very fine, young fellows," growled the artist, as he gathered himself up; "a nasty, slimy beast! I tried to stop him with my foot, and it was like the first step made in a skate. Has it gone?" "Gone? Yes," cried Josh. "Never mind; there are plenty left. They're awful things to hold. He would have got away all the same." "Not if I'd had a good grip," said Manners. "I don't know," said Will. "He might have got a good grip of you. Those big ones can bite like fun. Are you very wet?" "Bah! Abominable mess. This floor's covered with slime." "Shall we stop any longer?" "No," said the artist; "I've had enough for once. Let's get out in the open air again, and try and find out what made your noise." In a few minutes they were back on the top of the great stone wall that held the waters back, listening in the darkness amidst the rush and roar of sluices and chute, supplemented by the distant thunder of the heavy falls high up the stream, for the peculiar thumping whose repetitions had caught Will's ears. But they listened in vain, and continued their way to Drinkwater's cottage, where the basket with its living freight was placed, spite of the artist's protests, in his landlady's hands.