The answer came like a flash. He recollected it all now, even to his sitting down in the chair, wearied out.
He had been fast asleep, and those words had awakened him.
What did they say?—false alarm—tell Sir Risdon they would clear all away to-night—see if anything had been left about—lobster-boat!
Then no boat had come from the cutter last night, and the lieutenant would wait for him to signal, and here he was a prisoner, with the information—locked up—the very news the lieutenant would give anything to know.
He jumped up from the chair feeling horribly stiff, and looked steadily round for a way to escape before it was too late. Once out of that room he could ran, and by daylight the smugglers dare not hunt him down.
“Oh, those bars!” he mentally exclaimed, and he was advancing toward them, when just as he drew near, there was a rustling noise under the window, a couple of hands seized the bars, there was a scratching of boot-toes against stone work, and Ram’s face appeared to gaze into the room by intention, but into the astonished countenance of the young midshipman instead.
Ram was the first to recover from his surprise.
“Hullo!” he said, “who are you? I was wondering why that window was open.”
“Here, quick! Go round and open the door. I was shut in last night by mistake.”
“Oh!” said Ram looking puzzled. “I saw you last night, and wondered whose boy you was. It was you father kicked for shirking, and—My!—well: I hardly knowed you.”