“I have,” said Aleck, gloomily; “the blades turn the inside, but the thing’s as fast as ever.”
“But you are not doing it right,” said the middy.
“I suppose not; you try.”
“No, no; go on. But you haven’t turned enough.”
“It wants the proper key,” said Aleck.
“No, I think those knives will do, after all. I saw a sailor put in irons once for striking his superior officer, and I think that part wants not only turning like a key in a lock, but turning round and round, as if you were taking out a screw.”
“Oh, I see,” cried Aleck, with renewed eagerness, and he turned and turned till, to his great delight, the anklet fell open like an unclasped bracelet, and then dropped on to the folded sail-cloth which formed the prisoner’s couch.
“Hooray!” shouted Aleck again.
“Hurrah! Hurrah!” cried the young officer, with a decision in his voice that brought up their first meeting in the harbour.
“There, it’s all right,” cried Aleck, as the young officer caught him by the hands; “nothing like patience and a good try.”