two entrances he was quite
wrong, for he had wandered close up to the place whence Ram and Jemmy
had come, and, the noise continuing, he stooped down to let whoever it
was pass him, while he made for the entrance and slipped out.

Directly after there was the soft glow of a lanthorn, which suddenly
came into view round a corner, high up by the ceiling, and the bearer
began to descend a rough slope.

Archy saw no more, for he dropped down and hid behind a stone, watching
the glare of light, and then, as it passed him going on toward the other
end of the cave, he crept from behind the stone and made for the rough
slope, which was thoroughly printed on his mind, so that he could almost
picture every rock and inequality that might be in his way.

The door would be open, he thought; and, if he could, he would have a
clever revenge, for he determined to turn the tables on his enemies,
shut them in, and he hoped to make them prisoners till he could signal
for help from the cutter, and get a boat's crew ashore.

As he crept on quietly he glanced over his shoulder once, saw the light
disappearing behind the great square, squat pillars, and then with a
feeling of triumph that thrilled through him, he went cautiously up the
rest of the slope, his arms outstretched, his breath held, and in
momentary expectation of hearing an exclamation from the other end of
the cave.

"They'll think I'm somewhere about," he said to himself, as he crept on,
expecting to pass through an opening into daylight the next moment; but
it did not turn out as he anticipated, for he stopped short with his
nose against some one's throat, his arms on each side of a sturdy body,
and the arms belonging to that body gripped him tight.

"Steady, Ram, lad!" came in a gruff whisper. "Light out?"

Archy's heart beat heavily, and he felt that, to escape, he ought to try
and imitate the boy's voice, and say "Yes."

But he could not only stand panting, and the next instant his
opportunity, if opportunity it was, had gone. For Ram's real voice came
from right at the other end, echoing along the roof.

"Look out, Jemmy. He aren't here."

"No, he aren't there, lad," said the smuggler with a laugh. "Bring your
lanthorn, I've ketched a rat or some'at. Come and see."

Archy made a violent struggle to escape, but the man's arms were tight
round his waist, he was lifted off the slope, and as he fully realised
that, in a wrestling match, no matter how active and