What light there was in the one room in which Matt found himself came through the broken roof. There were no windows in the log walls.
"He was there, all right, Grat," cried Pryne, with a loud guffaw, "an' he didn't make no bones about comin' with me. He was mighty anxious to come, seemed like, but I don't calculate he guessed he'd find so many folks here."
Matt's eyes, by that time, had become accustomed to the gloom, and he was able to look around and distinguish various objects.
First, he saw a heavy-set man on a bench. This man had a dark face and a sinister eye, and was leaning back against the wall. Both his hands clung to a buckthorn cane with a large wooden handle. The cane was crossed against one of his knees and held it slightly elevated.
"Throw yer binnacle lights this way, my hearty, as soon's ye're done sizin' up my shipmate," came a voice from the opposite side of the room.
Matt whirled, a startled exclamation escaping his lips.
It was the one-eyed sailor who had spoken. The fellow was sitting on another bench, a wide grin on his weather-beaten face.
The trap had been sprung—and it was the most complete trap Matt had ever been in.
"I told ye more'n once to leave the Eye o' Buddha alone," chuckled Bunce, "but ye wouldn't take a warnin'. Now, see where ye are!"