Well, he cannot get us until he pulls the roof down."
"He could do it," whispered Adan, grimly. "Those hands! Dios de mi
alma!"
"He will think we have gone somewhere with Don Jim."
The priest returned in less than half an hour. His face, if anything,
was still more terrible to look upon. There was a touch of foam on his
lips. His great hands were clinched. He strode over to the bunk and
lifted the heaped-up bearskin. Suddenly he pressed his face into the
fur.
"Perfume--Dona Martina's," he exclaimed. "They have been here."
He raised his face to the ceiling, and the boys held their mouths open
that their teeth might not clack together. They closed their eyes:
instinct bade them give heed to visual magnetism. Roldan immediately
wanted to cough, Adan to scratch his nose. The next few moments were the
most agonised of their lives. They felt the priest lift his hands and
pass them slowly along the ceiling, they felt those eyes searching every
crevice. Then they felt him grip the edge of the aperture and lift
himself until his eyes were above the garret floor. But it was pitch
dark. He could not even see the ladder, much less the boys under the
bear skins.
Pages:
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188