“It’s a good thing I come to when I did,” he said, “or we all might have roasted in here.”
He shuffled rapidly to the other end of the shed, and kneeling above a big, flat stone which apparently served as a hearthstone for an open grate, he pressed some sort of mechanism. Instantly, before their astonished eyes, the stone swung open, revealing a flight of steps.
“A secret passage!” cried Tom, while the others uttered exclamations of astonishment.
“That’s right,” said Zeb, with a grin, “and the best of it is that there are only two persons on this island that knows of its existence. One’s me, and tother’s Bully Banjo. We made it in case a revenue should drop in here some day. Then, d’ye see, all we would have had to do would have been to herd the Chinks through it and bring ’em out in the brush half a mile away. But we never thought that we’d have to use it to get away from our own men.
“By the way,” he said, gazing about stupidly under the pain of his wound, “where is Sim Lake?”
“I’ll tell you about that later,” said Tom, “the thing to do now is to get away. You go first, you know the way.”
Led by the wounded man they plunged into the dark abyss, the professor’s boy whining a little at the idea of descending into the dark, damp place. Tom came last, and he closed down the big stone behind them.
The passage was fairly commodious, and walking single file and slightly stooped it was not long before they reached the end of it and emerged in a clearing in the brush.
Looking around they could see behind them the red glare of the fire and the figures of the mutineers about it.
“They little think what a march we’ve stolen on them,” chuckled Tom as he gazed.