Bang went the door, and Mrs Shackle, after putting a few things straight, went off obediently to bed, troubling in no wise about the door being left on the latch.
Chapter Thirty Three.
Archy Raystoke was fast asleep, dreaming about being once more on board the cutter, with the sun shining full in his eyes, because he was lying on the deck, right in everybody’s road, and Gurr the master was scolding him for it in a way which was very disrespectful to an officer and a gentleman, while the men grouped around grinned.
He was not surprised, for somehow Mr Brough was not there, and Gurr had assumed the command of the cutter, and was playing the part of smuggler and pirate, and insulting him, whom he addressed again: “Get up!”
Archy leaped to his feet, and saw at a glance that it was not the sun, but the light of a lanthorn shining in his eyes, while, before he could do more than realise that several men were standing close to him, half of a sack was drawn-down over his head and shoulders, and a thin rope was twisted round and round his arms, fastening him securely, and only leaving his hands free.
“What are you going to do?” he shouted, after a vain struggle to free himself, and his voice sounded muffled and thick through the heavy sack.
“Pitch you off the cliff if you make so much as a sound,” said a gruff voice by his car. “Keep quiet, and you won’t be hurt.”
The lad’s heart beat heavily, and he felt hot and half suffocated.