"Dom yo' I What d' yo' want a-spyin' here for?"
His captor dragged him down into the centre of operations, and Jim found himself inside a wall of scowling, hairy faces. "Now then, who are yo', and what'n yo' want here?"
The long rough fingers reached well round his throat, and he was almost black in the face, and sparks and things were beginning to dance before his eyes. He clutched at the big hand and tried to pull it away.
"I'm Jim Carron," he gasped.
"Yo' wunnot be Jim Carron long, then. Dig a hole there big enow to take him," he ordered--and Jim saw himself lying in it, alongside the little barrels and packages.
"I meant no harm. I only wanted to see," he urged sturdily.
"Yo' seen too much. I' th' sand yo'll see nowt an' yo'll talk none."
"I won't in any case. I promise you."
"We'se see to that, my lad. Yo'll be safest i' th' sand, and so 'ill we." And Jim, glancing scare-eyed up at the wall of rough face; would have been mightily glad to be back in the warm kitchen at Carne with Jack and his old Greeks and Romans.
He looked very small and helpless among them. Some of them had little lads at home, no doubt; but there was much at stake, and it would never do to leave him free to talk. On the other hand, running goods free of duty was one thing, and killing a boy was another, and there arose a growling controversy among them as to what they should do with him.