There was no response. The rustling ceased. For a moment he listened intently, then advanced boldly into the cabin.
“There is some one here,” he said, clearly. “You might as well acknowledge yourself now as later.”
Scarcely had the words left his mouth than he was thrown violently aside, and a form rushed past him through the doorway and up the companion ladder.
Ethan shouted a warning to the deck as he scrambled up. Quick footsteps sounded from above, then a sharp cry, and a heavy report.
When he gained the deck, he saw Captain Jones, pale of face and with a trickle of blood coming from his forehead, leaning against a gun. The Irish dragoon stood by the taprail, blowing the smoke from the long barrel of a pistol and peering downward into the waters of the harbor.
“He’s overboard, sir,” spoke Shamus, quietly.
A quick-witted middy had given the word to lower a boat; and when a few moments later this pulled away in search of the daring swimmer, Ethan and Longsword followed the commander below.
The companionway lamp was lighted once more, and a search showed the sentry senseless beneath a piece of sail cloth. The lock of the cabin door was broken, but the strong box was securely fastened.
“I’ll open it and make sure,” said Captain Jones.
When the lid was thrown back, the first object that struck their eyes was a sealed packet; and they drew long sighs of relief.