“Yes,” he said at last. “I have thought over our position again this morning, and it seems to me that the best thing to do, if we are allowed, is to go on quietly and submit, until a good opportunity occurs—say of the blacks going ashore in their canoe.”
“And then seize the vessel again?” said Carey, eagerly.
“And chuck Mr King Beachcomber overboard, sir,” whispered Bostock.
“Or make him prisoner till we can hand him over to the authorities,” said the doctor.
“But there are no authorities to hand him over to, sir,” said Carey.
“Have patience, my lad; we never know what may happen. We had a piece of bad luck last night; to-day we may have a bit of good. Yes, we’ll go on as usual. See to the breakfast.”
“Right, sir,” cried the old sailor, and he turned the handle of the door without effect.
“Locked?” said Carey, in a hoarse whisper.
“Can’t say, sir, but it’s made fast somehow.”
To the surprise of all, though, the door was opened the next moment, and their captor stood before them, looking from one to the other, while at a glance Carey saw that the blacks had disappeared.