Then the light was withdrawn, the captain went out, and the door was carefully fastened, the light fading from round the door while something shook loudly as he ascended the ladder and dropped the trap down with a snap, which was followed by the crash of iron, as if another loop were passed on a staple.
“Hasn’t dropped any sparks, has he, Vince?” whispered Mike, turning softly in his bunk.
“Can’t see any,” was the reply. “Oh, I say, Ladle, and I blew out our candle and saw them fly!”
“But do you think it’s true? Is the powder here, or did he only say it to frighten us?”
“I don’t know,” whispered Vince. “There must be a powder magazine, for he has cannon on deck. But I didn’t see any trap door: did you?”
“Yes—just as you put out the light. You knelt on it when you took off your boots.”
“Oh dear!” sighed Vince. “I’m all dripping wet. Isn’t this place horribly hot?”
“Hot? I feel as if my things were all soaked.”
“Don’t talk. We must lie still now, and wait. I don’t think he’ll come again.”
“I do,” said Mike. “He’ll never be such a noodle as to believe we two will stop here without trying to escape.”