The noise of the explosion in the small cabin was deafening, but, loud as
it was, it failed to drown a cry of alarm outside. The sound of heavy
feet and of two or three bodies struggling for precedence up the
companion-ladder followed, and Mr. Chalk, still holding his smoking rifle
and regarding a splintered hole in the centre of the panel, wondered
whether he had hit anybody. He slipped in a fresh cartridge and,
becoming conscious of a partial darkening of the skylight, aimed hastily
at a face which appeared there. The face, which bore a strong
resemblance to that of Mr. Stobell, disappeared with great suddenness.

[Illustration: "He aimed hastily at a face which appeared there."]

"He's gone clean off his head," said Captain Brisket, as Mr. Stobell
staggered back.

"Mad as a March hare," said Mr. Tredgold, shivering; "it's a wonder he
didn't have one of us just now. Call down to him that it's all right,
Stobell."

"Call yourself," said that gentleman, shortly.

"Get a stick and raise the skylight," said Tredgold.

A loud report sounded from below. Mr. Chalk had fired a second and
successful shot at the lock. "What's he doing?" inquired Stobell,
blankly.

A sharp exclamation from Captain Brisket was the only reply, and he
turned just as Mr. Chalk, with a rifle in one hand and a revolver in the