"Well, Captain," said I, "there's an air of mystery about things down here that I don't like. Some strange compelling power seems to have taken forcible possession of all of us. Whose hand was it that pushed out from between the leaves and beckoned to you? And when you had entered the darkness of the archway, so that you could not recognise its owner, who took your hand and led you into the cave?"
"That girl, I told you," said the Skipper. "That girl Lacelle."
"It wasn't the girl who guided me," said I. "Her hand is small and plump, probably warm to the touch. The hand that held mine was long and thin, and very clammy and cold."
"The devil!" ejaculated the old man.
"No, I don't think it was the devil himself," said I. "It may have been one of his chief mates."
I looked at the Skipper, and saw that the beads of perspiration were standing on his forehead and running down the crack alongside his nose.
"Don't, man! You make the creeps go all over me. What's the use of being so damned unpleasant? Ain't we uncomfortable enough without your ringin' the changes on ghosts and spooks and spectres?"
"You may as well look the thing in the face," said I. "There's something uncanny about the place, and, though it has worked in our favour thus far, who knows what may be in store."
"For God's sake, Jones, let's get away, then! Call Cynthy and the others to come, and let's run for it."
"Where to?" inquired I. "We might run right into the arms of those villains. If even one of them were to see us, our secret would be theirs, and then farewell to hope."