But the man was quicker, and sprang before him.
“Nay, you don’t, sir! I am mortal skeared of snakes and sarpints, but I arn’t going to let my officer think me a coward and call me a sham. Case I do get it badly, sir, would you mind ’membering to tell Dr Reston, sir, as they say whiskey’s the best cure for bites? And as there’s no whiskey as I knows on aboard, p’raps he wouldn’t mind trying rum.”
“I’m sure the doctor wouldn’t like me meddling with his prescribing, Tom,” said Murray shortly. “Now then, up with you!”
“Ay, ay, sir!” cried the man, in tones which sounded like gasps; and Murray stood by, dirk in hand, ready to make a chop at any reptile which might appear, while Tom drew himself up into the shadowy loft, and after a good look round lowered himself down again with a sigh of relief.
“No Mr Allen’s up there, sir,” he said.
“Then where can he be?” cried the middy excitedly, and he ran back across the hall and into the study, to pass his hand over the couch, which still felt slightly warm.
“P’raps he’s gone into the gunroom, sir,” said Tom respectfully.
“What, the hall where the guns and things are?”
“Nay, nay, sir; I meant the eating quarters—the dinin’-room, as you call it.”
Murray ran back across the hall to see at a glance that no one was beyond, and he turned upon his follower again.