"Down this way," said Boyd, descending abruptly a couple of steps into a side passage, very low-ceiled and evidently little used. He opened the door of a large chamber tolerably furnished, and put in order for the night by Mistress Annan, but plainly seldom tenanted. Directly opposite them Jermain saw a solid oak-door studded with nails—a grim-looking little portal that admitted them into a stone-floored and certainly dismal enough apartment, with a grated window.
"Fetters even, I declare!" exclaimed Jermain, stooping to examine some rusted chains, which proved past service. "Come along, Boyd; this is just the place. That's the key? So. Tight as Newgate! We'll get our fellow here in a trice and Tracey and Saville shall lie in the outside chamber."
But when they and Roxley presently stood before the door of the outer kitchen, it resisted Roxley's efforts, until his violent push overturned the chair-barricade within—and with no audible protest from the prudent architects thereof.
"Well, well—this is a pretty sight!" ejaculated the captain.
It was, indeed. A candle was guttering on the table amid empty flagons and spilled wine. Motionless in a corner lay the prisoner, just where Gilbert last saw him, apparently asleep now, in spite of his pain and the stifling air. At full length, opposite, stretched Saville, a brawny Irishman of middle years, sound asleep. Tracey, similarly oblivious to all responsibilities, snored beside Saville.
"More brutishness!" thought Boyd, in disgust at such a spectacle; "and yet I would they had but dropped off an hour earlier!"
Jermain and Roxley began trying to rouse the derelict pair. It was no use. Each relapsed into a stupidity more hopelessly complete at each attempt.
The captain suddenly gave up the task with a spasm of profanity that horrified Boyd, and drew from him a stern rebuke.
"They both deserve to be court-martialled and shot," declared Jermain. "Wait until we get to Neith! No, I don't care how informal their service is, Roxley. They shall be hung up by the thumbs for this—Dawkin, too."
"What—what's to be done, captain?" demanded Roxley, in a sudden attempt to hide his own dubious condition that was ludicrous to behold.