And he said:
"It isn't well known at all. You might because you have got a head like a tadpole, but I couldn't."
I said I was sure I had read it somewhere, but, anyway, it didn't matter. We examined the hut thoroughly, and found it was only too well and solidly made. We were utter prisoners, in fact, and, owing to the spy not knowing it, might very likely be left to die of starvation. He might even have gone to join a submarine, and never come back.
"Perhaps he does know we are here all the time," said Cornwallis. "Perhaps he spotted us, and pretended he didn't. In that case he may have locked us in deliberately to starve us, not caring to waste a shot on us."
This thought depressed us a good deal, and presently the sun sank and the light began to fade, and a seagull that settled outside on the roof uttered a melancholy and doleful squawk.
Of course, we were far from despairing yet, and Cornwallis made a cheerful remark, and reminded me that if we had eaten our last meal on earth, at any rate it was a jolly good one.
And I said:
"There may be food concealed here, for that matter. We'd better have a good hunt, and look into every hole and corner before it is dark."
This we did without success. There were many strange things there, including pieces of wreckage, a bit of an old ship's steering-wheel, and a brass bell with a ship's name on it; but there was nothing eatable excepting some fish to bait a lobster-pot; and the fish hadn't been caught yesterday, and we had by no means reached the stage of exhaustion in which we could regard it as food.
Cornwallis said: