"Hist!" I returned suddenly. "They are raising that hatch again. Come back!"
"Well, how do you like it down there?" came from Captain Marcale, as he leaned over and strained his eyes to catch sight of us in the gloom.
"We want to talk to you," answered Oliver. He leaned over to me. "I have a plan. If we can make him a prisoner down here perhaps we can yet get this game into our hands. Let us try it, anyhow."
"Want to talk, eh?" growled the captain. "Want to come on deck, I suppose."
"No, I want you to come down. I've hurt my leg," went on Oliver, and he told the truth, having scratched himself on a barrel nail while searching for the hold door.
There was a pause after this. Then Captain Marcale spoke to his mate in Spanish. A rope ladder was let into the hold and the master of the Viscount came down.
Oliver had thrown himself flat on some boxes, some distance from the hatchway, and I followed his example. As Captain Marcale came closer we saw that he was armed with a heavy marline spike.
"You are sick of it down here, not so?" he began.
"Yes, we are sick of it," I answered, and I
