Part 47 (2/2)

Or, as I lay crouched beside a box in the shadows beyond the dim circle illumined by his candle, how could I know whether it were best to announce myself or lie still?

I submit that the part of wisdom was to let the fellow go in peace, and this I did.

But as he turned the light for an instant swept across me. He gave a shriek and flung away both the candle and the pan of rice, bolting for the door. I called to him to stop. For answer he slammed the door--_and locked it_. Nor did my calls stay the slap of his retreating feet. I was caught fast as a rat in a trap.

I certainly had spilt the fat into the fire this time. Inside of five minutes the pa.s.sage outside was full of men. But during that time I had been an active Irishman. In front of me and around me I had piled a barrier of boxes and barrels.

”Who's in there?” Bothwell called.

I fired through the door. Some one groaned. There was a sudden scurry of retreating footsteps, followed by whisperings at the end of the pa.s.sage.

These became imperative, rose and fell abruptly, so that I judged there was a division of counsel.

Presently Bothwell raised his voice and spoke again.

”We've got you, whoever you are. My friend, you'll have a sick time of it if you don't surrender without any more trouble. Do you hear me?”

He waited for an answer, and got none. I had him guessing, for it was impossible to know how many of us might be there. Moreover, there was a chance of working upon the superst.i.tion of the natives among the crew.

The cook had very likely reported that he had seen a ghost.

Except a shot out of the darkness no sound had come from me since. So long as I kept silent the terror of the mystery would remain. Was I man or devil? What was it spitting death at them from the black room?

”We're going to batter that door down,” went on Bothwell, ”and then we're going to make you wish you'd never been born.”

The voices fell again to a whispered murmur. Soon there would be a rush and the door would be torn from its hinges. I made up my mind to get Bothwell if I could before the end.

Above the mutterings came clearly a frightened soprano.

”What is it, Boris? What are you going to do?”

Evelyn had come out of her room to try to save me.

”Just getting ready to ma.s.sacre your friend,” her cousin answered promptly.

”Mr. Sedgwick?”

Terror shook in the voice that died in her throat.

Bothwell bayed deep laughter.

”O-ho! My friend from Erin once more--for the last time. Come out and meet your welcome, Sedgwick.”

”Suppose you come and take me,” I suggested.

”By G.o.d, I will! Back with you into that room, girl.”

<script>