onfidence was further restored by Captain Harris; ever a gross
ruffian, with no refinements to his rascality, he had been at the brandy
bottle after Rattray's example; and now was dozing on the latter's bed,
taking his watch below when he could get it, like the good seaman he
had been. I was quite sorry for him when the conversation at the window
ceased suddenly, and Rattray roused the captain up.

"Watches aft!" said he. "We want that mattress; you can bring it along,
while I lead the way with the pillows and things. Come on, Cole!"

"Where to?" I asked, standing firm.

"Where there's no window for you to jump out of, old boy, and no clothes
of mine for you to hide behind. You needn't look so scared; it's as dry
as a bone, as cellars go. And it's past three o'clock. And you've just
got to come."

CHAPTER XVIII. A MAN OF MANY MURDERS

It was a good-sized wine-cellar, with very little wine in it; only one
full bin could I discover. The bins themselves lined but two of the
walls, and most of them were covered in with cobwebs, close-drawn like
mosquito-curtains. The ceiling was all too low: torpid spiders hung
in disreputable parlors, dead to the eye, but loathsomely alive at an
involuntary touch. Rats scuttled when we entered, and I had not been
long alone when they returned to bear me company. I am not a natural
historian, and had rather face a lion with the right rifle than a rat
with a stick. My jailers, however, had been kind enough to leave me a
lantern, which, set upon the ground (like my mattress), would afford a
warning, if not a protection, against the worst; unless I slept; and as
yet I had not lain down. The rascals had been considerate enough, more
especially Santos, who had a new manner for me with his revised opinion
of my character; it was a manner almost as courtly as that which had
embellished his relations with Eva Denison, and won him my early regard
at sea. Moreover, it was at the suggestion of Santos that they had
detained me in the hall, for much-needed meat and drink, on the way
down. Thereafter they had conducted me through the book-lined door of my
undoing, down stone stairs leading to three cellar doors, one of which
they had double-locked upon me.

As soon as I durst I was busy with this door; but to no purpose; it was
a slab of solid oak, hung on hinges as massive as its lock. It galled
me to think that but two doors stood between me and the secret tunnel to
the sea: for one of th