“Ahoy, there! Below there! I’m coming.—Can’t expect a bosun to break his neck.”
He said these last words as his head and shoulders were above the floor, and gave the prisoners a friendly nod just as his eyes were disappearing.
“Come along, my lad,” he said, when he was out of sight.
“Ay! Ay!” growled the furtive-looking man, slowly following, and giving those he left behind a very peculiar smile, which he lengthened out in time and form, till he was right down the ladder, with the trap-door drawn over and resting upon his head. This he slowly lowered, till only his eyes and brow were seen, and he stayed like that watching for a minute, then let the lid close with a flap, and shut him, as it were, in a box.
“Gone!” said Jem. “Lor’, how I should ha’ liked to go and jump on that there trap just while he was holding it up with his head. I’d ha’ made it ache for him worse than they made mine.”
“Hist! Don’t talk so loud,” whispered Don. “He listens.”
“I hope he’s a-listening now,” said Jem, loudly; “a lively smiling sort of a man. That’s what he is, Mas’ Don. Sort o’ man always on the blue sneak.” Don held up his hand.
“Think they suspect anything, Jem?” he whispered.
“Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t, Mas’ Don. That stoutish chap seemed to smell a rat, and that smiling door-knocker fellow was all on the spy; but I don’t think he heared anything, and I’m sure he didn’t see. Now, then, can you tell me whether they’re coming back?”
Don shook his head, and they remained thinking and watching for nearly an hour before Jem declared that they must risk it.