he vine, then
footfalls, again, modulated and stealthy they seemed, on the door just
above them. A speck of dirt, or an infinitesimal pebble, maybe, fell
upon Archer's head from the slight jarring of some crack in the rough
door. Then silence.

Breathlessly they waited, Archer nervously clutching Tom's arm.

"Don't speak," Tom warned in the faintest whisper.

Still they waited. But no other sound broke upon the deathlike solitude
and darkness....

CHAPTER VII

WHERE THERE'S A WILL----

"They're hunting for us," whispered Tom hoarsely. "It's good it was
shut."

"I'd ratherr have them catch us," shivered Archer, "than die in herre."

"We haven't died yet," said Tom, "and they haven't caught us either.
Don't lose your nerves. She'll come as soon as she can."

For a few minutes they did not speak nor stir, only listened eagerly for
any further sound.

"What do you s'pose that shot was?" Archer whispered, after a few
minutes more of keen suspense.

"I don't know. A signal, maybe. They're searching this place for us, I
guess. Don't talk."

Archer took comfort from Tom's calmness, and for half an hour more they
waited, silent and apprehensive. But nothing more happened, the solemn
stillness of the countryside reigned without, and as the time passed
their fear of pursuit and capture gave way to cold terror at the thought
of being locked in this black, stifling vault to die.

What had happened? What did that shot mean, and where was it? Why did
Florette not come? Who had walked across the plank roof of that musty
prison? The fact that they could only guess at the time increased their
dread and made their dreadful predicament the harder to bear. Moreover,
the air was stale and insufficient and their heads began to ache
cruelly.

"We can't stand it in here much longer," Tom confessed, after what
seemed a long period of waiting. "Pretty soon one of us will be all in
and then it'll be harder for the other. We've got to get out, no matter
what."

"Therre may be a Gerrman soldierr within ten feet of us now," Archer
said. "They'rre probably around in this vineyarrd _somewherre_, anyway.
If we tried to forrce it open they'd hearr us."

"We couldn't force it, anyway," Tom said.

"My head's pounding like a hammerr," said Archer after a few minutes
more of silence.

"Hold some of that damp straw to it.--How many matches did she give
you?"

"'Bout a dozen or so."

"Wish I had a knife.--Have you got that