Archy paid no heed to the man’s jeering words, for he was thinking of the place, and trying to fix it all in his memory, for use when these two had gone.
He knew that he must have been over the parts he had seen again and again in the darkness, but beyond the memory of the great pillars he had marked, the place had made no impression; but now he had seen the way out, and the way further in, and throwing himself down, he without apparent reason took up a long narrow piece of stone, handled it for a moment or two, and set it down carelessly, but not with so much indifference that he did not contrive that it should act as a rough pointer, ready to indicate the direction of the door.
Feeling that it was useless to say more to his gaolers, especially after his attempt to escape, he half lay on the old sail; while, as if the darkness were the same to him as the light, the smuggler said laconically, “Going back!” turned on his heel, and disappeared in the black gloom.
“Brought you some bacon and some fried eggs, this time,” said Ram, looking at him attentively, but Archy made no reply.
“No use to rile,” continued the boy, “and you can’t get out, so take it easy. Father’ll let you go some day.”
“Where is the cutter?” said Archy sharply.
“I d’know. Gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yes, she went off somewhere. To look for you, pr’aps,” said the boy grinning, “or else they think you’re drownded.”
“Look here,” said the midshipman suddenly, “you behaved very treacherously to me, but I’ll forgive you if you’ll let me go.”