But the notes were a little--just a little--further
away she thought, nor could she see it anywhere.
And it was then that Come-Back Stumper, limping a trifle as usual,
approached them. He looked troubled rather, and though his manner was
full of confidence still, his mind had mild confusion in it somewhere.
He joined Uncle Felix and the children, standing in front of them.
"Listen!" he said in low, gruff voice. He held out an open palm, three
snail-shells in it, signifying that they should take one each.
"Listen!" he repeated, and put the smallest shell against his own ear.
"D'you hear that curious sound?" His head was cocked sideways, one ear
pressed tight against the shell, the other open to the sky. "The
Ganges..." he mumbled to himself after an interval, "but the stones
are moving--moving in the river bed.... That long, withdrawing roar!"
He was just about to add "down the naked shingles of the world," when
Uncle Felix interrupted him.
"Grating," he said, listening intently to his shell; "a metallic,
grating sound. What is it?" There was apprehension in his tone, a
touch of sadness. "It's getting louder too!"
"Footsteps," exclaimed Tim.
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