The atmosphere of the room, was sombre, almost terrifying. Taking no time to look about, Penny scurried to unlock the door. She felt more at ease as Salt sauntered in.
“Well, this is a queer layout,” he observed. “A regular jungle hut.”
The room was bare of furniture except for a low wooden table upon which the cocoanut oil lamp burned. On one wall hung two black and red flags with serpentine symbols sewn with metallic beads.
Across the room, above the deep fireplace, two crossed machetes dangled from cords attached to the wall. Beneath the table was a small, crude wooden chest, and lying upon it was a rattle made from pebbles placed in a painted canister.
Salt shook the rattle several times. In the stillness of the room, the clatter of the pebbles seemed almost deafening to Penny’s sensitive ears.
“Oh, please!” she pleaded.
“Don’t you like it?” he teased.
Penny shook her head. With fascinated gaze, she stared at the flickering oil light.
“Do you suppose that thing burns all the time, Salt, or has someone just been here?”
“It couldn’t burn very long, unless someone keeps refilling the shell with oil. Wonder what’s in this chest?”