They whispered to each other from time to time; Mike being impatient to begin their attempt, but Vince always refusing till he felt satisfied that all was still.
At last this feeling of satisfaction came, and, passing his legs out of his bunk, he dropped lightly on to the floor to begin feeling about, till his hand touched a rough hinge, and on the other side a ring which lay down in the woodwork of a trap door.
But he did not say anything, only rose and pulled open the light again, keeping it in that position by passing the leather strap which formed its handle over a hook in the ceiling, a slit having been cut in the piece of leather.
“Now, Ladle,” whispered Vince, “come and kneel here, then I can stand on your back.”
Mike obeyed at once, and then whispered quickly,—
“Vince, there is a trap door here: I’m right on it.”
“I know,—I touched it; but there’s no candle. Ready?”
“Yes.”
Vince took hold of the opening frame, which was only just big enough for him to pass through, stepped lightly on to his companion as he stiffened himself on all fours, and then began to creep out.
For a few moments he hesitated, for there was the black water beneath him, full of sparks, gliding rapidly along, so brightly that he felt that if any one were on deck looking over the bulwark he must be seen; but the thought of freedom and those at home nerved him, and as soon as he was in a sitting position, with his legs inside, he bent down and whispered to his companion, who had risen,—