Are they going to put me back in my dark prison at the bottom of the
hold?

No. They turn to the left and push me into a cabin. It is lighted by
a port-hole, which is open, and through which the fresh air comes in
gusts from the briny. The furniture consists of a bunk, a chair, a
chest of drawers, a wash-hand-stand and a table.

The latter is spread for dinner, and I sit down. Then the cook's mate
comes in with two or three dishes. He is a colored lad, and as he is
about to withdraw, I try to question him, but he, too, vouchsafes no
reply. Perhaps he doesn't understand me.

The door is closed, and I fall to and eat with an excellent appetite,
with the intention of putting off all further questioning till some
future occasion when I shall stand a chance of getting answered.

It is true I am a prisoner, but this time I am comfortable enough, and
I hope I shall be permitted to occupy this cabin for the remainder of
the voyage, and not be lowered into that black hole again.

I now give myself up to my thoughts, the first of which is that it was
the Count d'Artigas who planned the abduction; that it was he who is
responsible for the kidnapping of Thomas Roch, and that consequently
the French inventor must be just as comfortably installed somewhere on
board the schooner.

But who is this Count d'Artigas? Where does he hail from? If he has
seized Thomas Roch, is it not because he is determined to secure the