“If I must, I must!” replied Mr. Seymour, in a low tone.
He opened the door a little farther. Martin felt strangely excited. A mysterious visitor to Mr. Seymour; a sloop in the river; some risky enterprise; something that Mr. Seymour was to take; all these circumstances sharpened his curiosity and caused him to strain eyes and ears.
The two men between them carried a heavy object into the hall. Martin could not see what it was, nor could he see the features of the visitor. Mr. Seymour was between them and the light.
“Remember you’ll have to account to me,” said the stranger in the same low, husky tone.
“If you don’t trust me,” replied Mr. Seymour impatiently, “take it away!”
“Trust you—oh, yes!” was the answer, with a slight gurgle of laughter. “But I thought I might as well remind you. That’s all. Good-night!”
He turned his back and went out into the darkness, Mr. Seymour gently closing the door behind him. And then Martin saw that the object on the floor was a square box, brass-bound at the corners.
Mr. Seymour shot the bolt without noise, shouldered the box, which appeared to be of considerable weight, then looked at the candle.
“Confound it!” he muttered, frowning.
Martin guessed that he was annoyed because, laden with the box, he could not stoop to lift the candle.