“What does he mean? Master Huggin will make a show of him?”
“No, sir,” cried Murray. “He’s afraid of being murdered for showing the way. I have it, sir,” he said now excitedly. “That explains everything. There’s a way out here;” and stooping down the middy seized one corner of the rug, gave it a sharp jerk, and laid bare what seemed to be a trap-door neatly made in the polished floor.
A murmur of excitement ran through the room, and Murray exclaimed—
“Then the poor fellow has been killed, Tom.”
“And buried, sir, seemingly,” growled the sailor; and without waiting for orders, he went down on one knee to raise the broad square flap, while the black shrank a little more away where he knelt, and began rubbing his hands together excitedly.
“Well, my lad,” cried Mr Anderson, “be smart! You’re not afraid, are you?”
“Not a bit, sir,” growled the big sailor; “but there seems to be some sort o’ dodgery over this here hatchway. You see, there arn’t no ring-bolt.”
“Take your cutlass to it, Tom,” said Murray; and as he spoke he drew his dirk.
“Ay, ay, sir; that’ll do it,” replied the sailor, and directly after the middy and he began to force in the edges of their blades so as to try and prise open the trap.
“Come, come, come,” cried the lieutenant, “don’t bungle like that;” and he drew his sword. “Let me try.”