After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Kneebone, Van Galgebrok, and Baptist Kettleby—all of whom greeted him cordially. "Is the case of watches on board?" he asked in an under tone. Running his hand hastily over it, he was startled to find it one complicated mass of bolts and bars. "Ay, what's the matter, boy!" reiterated Jackson sternly. He will say who it was. There was a sharp knocking at the outside door. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. Spurlock. Stanley.
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