“Massa Allen gone!” repeated the black, and then, as if placing no faith whatever in the young officer’s assertion, he shuffled out of the boat on to the stage, and then ran up to the cottage doorway, where he hesitated for a few moments before entering cautiously on tiptoe.
“See that, sir?” whispered Tom May. “He knows all about them pisonous sarpents.”
At the end of a few minutes, during which the midshipman and his follower caught a glimpse or two of the black as he hurried from room to room and evidently made a thorough examination of the place, the man reappeared, with the broad eager grin his countenance had worn entirely gone, to give place to a look of concern and scare. It seemed to Murray that the black’s face no longer shone but looked dull and ashy, as if he had been startled, and his voice sank to a whisper as he crept up close to the young midshipman and whispered—
“Massa Allen gone!”
“Well, I told you so,” said Murray sharply. “Where has he gone?”
The black raised one hand to his lips, upon which he pressed all his fingers together, while he looked behind him and then all about as if to see if any one could hear his words—words which he seemed afraid to utter.
“Well, did you hear what I said? Where has he gone?”
The black shook his head violently.
“There, Tom, your idea is worth nothing,” said Murray sadly.
“I warn’t sure, sir, of course,” said the man, “but still I couldn’t help thinking he might have come back, ’specially as the darkie here was so cock-sure. Hallo! What’s he up to now?” continued the sailor. “Hi! Stop him, my lads!”