Archy’s first impulse, as he recovered himself a little in the silence which followed, was to turn, open the door, and flee. But he hesitated. It would be right into the hands of the enemy. Besides, the terribly chilling sounds he had heard had ceased, and he felt less cowardly.
“Perhaps,” he said to himself, “it was fancy, or nothing to be afraid of.”
A heavy step on the other side of the door alarmed him more, and stretching out his hands, he stepped forward, went cautiously on and on, and at the end of a few yards touched what felt like panelling. The next moment he realised that he had reached a door, which was yielding, and he passed into a room, to scent the cool night air, and hear subdued sounds without and below.
He was in a room over the cellar, he was sure, and the window was wide open. He crept to it, guided by the cold air which came in, and had just reached it when he heard rapid footsteps, and some one panted,—
“Where’s the skipper?”
“Here. What is it?” whispered Shackle, who seemed close to where the midshipman stood.
“Jemmy Dadd—came from the cove. Boat’s crew landed.”
“Run down and tell them all to come back,” said Shackle hoarsely.
“I did, and they’re coming. I met first man.”
“Right! Get all back in quick!”