Chapter Twenty Five.
’twixt Cup and Lip.
Another instant and Hilary must have been discovered; but just then the trampling of feet was heard, a shout or two, and Allstone said gruffly:
“Let the nets alone, and come and get the stuff down.”
The man dropped the nets, and taking up his candle, which he had placed upon a chest, followed Allstone back along the narrow passage between the piled-up tubs and packages, and once more Hilary was left in comparative darkness, to lie there dripping with perspiration, and hesitating as to what he should do next, for if he stayed where he was, it was probable that the men would come back to remove the nets. If, on the other hand, he attempted to move, the chances were that he would be heard. In short he dare not move, for the slightest rustle would be sure to take their attention.
And so he lay there in an extremely uncomfortable position, watching the shadows cast upon the dingy ceiling, as the distorted heads and shoulders of the men were seen moving to and fro. Sometimes he could distinguish what they carried, whether it was bale or tub, and upon which shoulder it was carried, till by degrees, as he found that he was not discovered, his thoughts began to turn upon what a grand haul the crew of the Kestrel could make in the way of prize-money if he only had the good fortune to escape, and could find his way back to the shore.
There must have been at least six carts unloaded by slow degrees, and their contents brought down into that vault before Allstone, who was at the head of the steps leading down, suddenly shouted:
“That’s all. Look alive up.”
“Ay, ay, we’re coming,” was the reply, and Hilary heard the men drag a case of some kind a little way along the floor with a loud scratching noise.
“I don’t like leaving those nets,” said the one who had been round. “We don’t want ’em now, but the time may come when we shall be glad to go drifting again. What are you doing?”