“Hands up!”
Heads up, too, for it was Mr. Seymour’s voice and instantaneously Jo’s and Ann’s eyes came level with the porthole.
In the doorway stood Mr. Seymour with a shotgun in his hands and behind him, his lean face grimly set, Mr. Bailey stood with a long rifle held above Mr. Seymour’s shoulder. The shadows in the cabin were strange, for Tom and Charlie had dropped their torches as they raised their hands and all the light in the room came from the two circles on the floor. Warren Bain, still trussed like a fowl, had been shoved into a corner.
“Where are the children?”
Ann could hardly believe that it was her father’s voice that said those words, so changed it was from the voice she knew.
“Here we are!” she called.
CHAPTER XII THE FIGUREHEAD’S SECRET
“Gee, this is a terrible storm, for the summer-time,” exclaimed Jo as they reached the deck.
He and Ann had been sheltered by the great hull of the schooner, for the wind and rain were driving from the direction of the sea, but now they felt its full force. The sweeping blasts almost carried Ann off her feet. A steady sheet of rain was sweeping across the bare deck and hissing out through the scuppers. She had to lean against the storm as she pushed her way to the ladder that led below.