'If so be there 's cannibals----' he began.
'Nonsense! They wouldn't be stifling under hatches.'
'Or maybe dead corpses or skellingtons.'
'Come, pull up the hatch; I 'll go down first.'
Brushing away the thin covering of sand, Meek seized the ring and heaved. The hatch came up so easily that he almost lost his balance.
'The stairway 's quite sound,' said Trentham, peering into the depths. 'Stand by!'
He stepped upon the companion, and descended. In a few seconds Meek heard the striking of a match, and Trentham's voice ringing out of the vault.
'Come down, Meek; there are no skeletons.'
Meek looked around timorously, sighed, and went slowly down the ladder. Trentham had just struck another match, and was holding it aloft. The flame disclosed a small cabin, the floor space almost filled with a massive table and three chairs of antique make, all of dark oak. Upon the table lay an old sextant, a long leather-bound telescope, a large mug of silver-gilt, heavily chased, a silver spoon, and several smaller objects. On the wall hung a large engraved portrait in a carved oak frame, representing a stout, hook-nosed, heavily wigged gentleman in eighteenth century costume, with a sash across the shoulder and many stars and decorations on the breast.
Meek breathed heavily. The match went out.