Chapter Seven.
Attacked by Pirates.
We both halted and listened intently, Monroe with one foot on the top step of the companion, on his way below.
“What did you think you heard?” I questioned in a half-whisper.
“Well, I can scarcely say,” was the low-spoken reply. “As a matter of fact, I am not sure that I heard anything. I am beginning to think that Kennedy’s stupid talk must have affected us all aft here, more or less, but it certainly seemed to me that while I was bidding you good night just now I caught the faintest suggestion of—Ah! by Jove! there it is again. Did you catch it?”
“Yes,” I said, “unless—But no; I don’t believe it was imagination. I thought I heard a sound like the groaning of an oar against a thole pin, some distance off in that direction,” with a flourish of my hand toward the east.
“Yes,” agreed Monroe; “that describes the sound exactly. Surely Kennedy’s apprehensions cannot have been well-founded, after all, can they?”
“Don’t know in the least,” I returned; “but I guess we shall, very soon now. Meanwhile, since it must be obvious to you that I cannot possibly leave the deck at this juncture, perhaps you will have the goodness to slip down below and do that key-turning trick you suggested to me just now.”