"Let's finish the job," cried a voice. "We've had enough," and there was an outcry of applause.
Immediately on that there was a loud rapping on the door near us.
"When I've played my cards and fail, gentlemen," said Holgate's voice, "I'll resign the game into your hands."
"What is it?" shouted Barraclough. "Fire, and be hanged!"
"You mistake, Sir John," called out Holgate. "We're not anxious for another scrap. We've got our bellies full. All we want is a little matter that can be settled amicably. I won't ask you to open, for I can't quite trust the tempers of my friends here. But if you can hear me, please say so."
"I hear," said Barraclough.
"That's all right, then. I won't offer to come in, for William Tell may be knocking about. We can talk straight out here. We want the contents of those safes, that's all—a mere modest request in the circumstances."
"You've got the safes," shouted Barraclough. "Let us alone."
"Softly, Sir John, Bart.," said the mutineer. "The safes are there safe enough, but there's nothing in 'em. You've got back on us this time, by thunder, you have. And the beauty of the game was its simplicity. Well, here's terms again, since we're bound to do it in style of plenipotentiaries. Give us the contents of the safes, and I'll land you on the coast here within twelve hours with a week's provisions."
There was a moment's pause on this, and Barraclough looked toward me in the dim light, as if he would, ask my advice.