With heart in mouth, he crossed the line of the ferry, and picked his
way among the vessels lying off the jetties. On one of these vessels
somebody was playing a concertina, and as he crept under its counter
a voice hailed him in German. He gave no answer, but pulled quickly
on. And now he was clear again, and nearing Kit's House under the
left bank. There was no light in any window, he noticed, with a
glance over his shoulder. Still in the shadow, and only pulling out,
here and there, to avoid a jutting rock, he gained the creek's mouth,
and rowed softly up until the bulwarks of the old wreck overhung him.
The very silence daunted him now; but it must be gone through.
Thinking to deaden fear by hurry, he caught up the lantern, leapt on
board with the painter, fastened it, and crept swiftly towards the
poop.
He gained the hatch, and paused to turn the slide of his lantern.
The shaft of light fell down the companion as into a pitch-dark well.
He could feel his heart thumping against his ribs as he began the
descent, and jumping with every creak of the rotten boards, while
always behind his fright lurked a sickening sense of the guilty
foolishness of his errand.
At the ladder's foot he put his hand to his damp brow, and peered
into the cabin.
In a moment his blood froze.
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