“Sort of summer-house,” thought Murray; and then in connection with his duty he told the sailor to go up-stairs and examine the bedrooms.
“Which way does the cabin ladder lie, sir?” asked the man.
“I don’t know, Tom,” was the reply. “Try that door.”
He pointed to one that was on the far side of the hall and had struck him at first as a movable panel to close up a fire-place; but upon the light cane frame being drawn out it revealed a perpendicular flight of steps, up which the sailor drew himself lightly and lowered himself down again.
“Well?”
“Arn’t no rooms there, sir,” whispered the man, with rather an uneasy look in his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just the ship’s hold, sir, turned upside down like. Sort o’ cock loft of bamboo spars jyned together at the top—rafters, don’t they call ’em, sir?”
“Yes, of course.”
“That’s right, then, sir, and they’re all thatched and caulked with palm leaves.”