“Where is he?” asked Sir Rowland, glancing uneasily around. “I do not see him.”
“De jonker. He's here,” returned the skipper, pointing significantly downwards. “Bring him out, Quilt.”
So saying, he pushed aside the table, and the janizary stooping down, undrew a bolt and opened a trap-door.
“Come out!” roared Quilt, looking into the aperture. “You're wanted.”
But as no answer was returned, he trust his arm up to the shoulder into the hole, and with some little difficulty and exertion of strength, drew forth Thames Darrell.
The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm.
“Why didn't you come out when I called you, you young dog?” cried Quilt in a savage tone.
“Because I knew what you wanted me for!” answered Thames firmly.
“Oh! you did, did you?” said the janizary. “And what do you suppose we mean to do with you, eh?”
“You mean to kill me,” replied Thames, “by my cruel uncle's command. Ah! there he stands!” he exclaimed as his eye fell for the first time upon Sir Rowland. “Where is my mother?” he added, regarding the knight with a searching glance.