“Idiot!” cried Jarette, sharply, and directly after the door was banged and fastened.
“My fish—my fish—my poor little fish!” muttered Mr Preddle; “but I couldn’t, even to save them.”
Then there was silence, and I softly recovered the little hole and looked round at Mr Frewen, who nodded and smiled.
“Yes,” he whispered, “it is quite true: he is a gentleman, poor fellow, in spite of all.”
Then we listened again, and heard door after door opened, as Jarette went round to see his prisoners; and principally, I fancy, to make sure, as he used his eyes sharply, that no one was likely to escape.
Door after door was opened, and then we heard fierce angry voices, one of which I was sure was Captain Berriman’s. We could not hear what was said, but his voice sounded threatening, and Mr Frewen whispered—
“Thank heaven! I was afraid the poor captain had been murdered.”
Hardly had the words passed his lips before we heard a sharp report, a piercing shriek, and a heavy fall.
Then for a few moments there was silence, but a quick muttering of voices followed, and then a door was banged.
A few moments later as I stood there panting, and with the perspiration standing out upon my forehead, another door seemed to have been opened, and I heard a quick angry voice speaking loudly and upbraidingly.