“They’re a plaguey long time coming,” said the man who had been talking so much. “Here, just come round here, my lad, and I’ll show you what I mean about the nets.”
“It’s all over,” said Hilary as he took a firm grip of the hilt of his cutlass, meaning as soon as he was discovered to strike out right and left, and try to escape during the surprise his appearance would cause.
As he lay there, ready to spring up at the smallest indication of his discovery, he saw the shadows move as the men came round by the heap of packages, and enter the narrow passage where he was. The first, bearing a candle stuck between some nails in a piece of wood, was a fair, fresh-coloured young fellow, and he was closely followed by a burly middle-aged man bearing another candle, Allstone coming last.
“There,” said the younger man, “there’s about as nice a mess for a set o’ nets to be in as anyone ever saw;” and he laid hold of the pile that Hilary had drawn over his face.
It was only a matter of moments now, and as he lay there Hilary’s nerves tingled, and he could hardly contain himself for eagerness to make his spring.
“Look at that, and that, and that,” said the man, picking up folds of the soft brown netting, and seeming about to strip all off Hilary, but by a touch of fate helping his concealment the next moment, by throwing fold after fold over him, till the next thing seemed to be that he would be smothered.
“Tell you what,” he said. “They nets are just being spoiled. There’s plenty of time before the next cart unloads. Lend a hand here, and let’s have ’em all out in the pure air. I hate seeing good trade left down here to spoil in a damp—”
He laid hold of the nets, and as he gave a drag Hilary felt the meshes gliding over his face, and prepared himself to spring up and make a dash for his liberty.