“Wyzinski, help us to clear away, and we will get out the chess-board. I want to speak to you. You can lean over us as we play.”
“What on earth is wrong now?” exclaimed Isabel, fixing her large black eyes on her husband’s face.
“Hush, Isabel!” returned Hughes, throwing himself down on the planks, “a great peril hangs over us. If there was a chance of rescue, I would have said nothing about it, but the day wears on, and the horizon is clear.”
Isabel looked up. “All seems calm, there is no sign of storm about,” she remarked.
“Peril!” repeated Wyzinski, as he stooped over Hughes and moved a knight on the board. “Check to your king and castle—both. It and I are old friends.”
And Hughes told his tale, while the game proceeded in a most irregular manner.
Captain Weber sauntered up, and looked knowingly at the board, though he did not understand anything about it.
“Have you spoken to Adams and to Morris?” asked the missionary.
“Yes, and they are prepared—and what is better, yonder in the cabin is the arm-chest securely locked. It was a lucky thing I placed it there. The villains are unarmed.”
“They have their knives—there are eleven of them, and we count how many?” quietly asked the missionary.