“The old man sucked it all in beautiful,” said the cook. “He’s in a dreadful way. He’s got all your clothes and things, and the boy’s, and he’s going to ’and ’em over to your friends. It’s the best joke I ever heard.”
“You’re a fool!” said Bill shortly, and lighting his pipe went and squatted in the bows to wrestle grimly with a naturally bad temper.
For the ensuing four days things went on smoothly enough. The weather being fair, the watch at night was kept by the men, and regularly they had to go through the unpleasant Jack-in-the-box experience of taking the lid off Bill. The sudden way he used to pop out and rate them about his sufferings and their callousness was extremely trying, and it was only by much persuasion and reminders of his share of the hush-money that they could persuade him to return again to his lair at daybreak.
Still undisturbed they rounded the Land’s End. The day had been close and muggy, but towards night the wind freshened, and the schooner began to slip at a good pace through the water. The two prisoners, glad to escape from the stifling atmosphere of the hold, sat in the bows with an appetite which the air made only too keen for the preparations made to satisfy it.
Ned was steering, and the other two men having gone below and turned in, there were no listeners to their low complaints about the food.
“It’s a fool’s game, Tommy,” said Bill, shaking his head.
“Game?” said Tommy, sniffing. “’Ow are we going to get away when we get to Northsea?”
“You leave that to me,” said Bill. “Old Ned seems to ha’ got a bad cough,” he added.
“He’s choking, I should think,” said Tommy, leaning forward. “Look! he’s waving his hand at us.”
Both sprang up hastily, but ere they could make any attempt to escape the skipper and mate emerged from the companion and walked towards them.