Valentine Williams

“ The galley door gaped wide as I had left it. The open space about the fire was still deserted; but I yet heard the sound of voices and the crash of feet in the undergrowth beyond the circle of light flung by the dying embers. And I noticed with growing anxiety that the eastern sky was growing light.
“We can't afford to wait!” I whispered to the girl. “We shall have to run for it. If only we can make our way in the dark to the grave! I can find myself to rights after that...”
“There's a path through the forest to the grave,” rejoined Marjorie. ”

“ In a bound I was at the mulatto's side and had dragged him by the feet into the inner room. It was a fetid, black hole. I felt the outline of a truckle bed against the farther wall. I flung the cook down on it and spread a blanket over him. I was back in the galley by Marjorie's side just as a heavy footstep rang on the hard earth without.
Then the hut door was violently flung open.
“Pizarro!” called a thick voice in Spanish. “Pizarro! Nombre de Dios! Is the man deaf?”
We pressed ourselves flat against the wall as the door swung inwards. ”

“ Swiftly I drew the galley door towards me and peeped through the crack. Silhouetted against the firelight, two figures were striding rapidly towards the hut. One of them, a great black shape, went with a limp.
In a flash, without noise, I pulled the door to and, flattening my palm on the candle, extinguished it, plunging the galley in darkness.
“We must get out by the back,” I whispered to Marjorie.
“There is no way!” she replied. “There is not even a window in the back room!”
“Then stay here behind the door!” I told her. “And, whatever happens ... whatever happens, do you understand? ... ”