A fancy struck Jim at this moment that he would pretend he was unconscious, though he had little hope of gaining anything by it.

As soon as the light filled the apartment, Hornblower looked over at the two forms stretched out in the hammocks, and asked in a whisper,—­

“Are they asleep?”

The sailor leaned over each in turn, and carefully surveyed the features and listened to the breathing.

“Yes; they don’t know any more than a couple of logs.”

“I wouldn’t have the boy overhear us for the world.”

“There ain’t any danger of that.”

Thus believing, the two men talked business straight along.

“It won’t do to stay here any longer,” said Hornblower.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s dangerous; you was such a fool yesterday as to allow the boy on deck when the officer was there, and he couldn’t help noticing him.”

“But they didn’t speak to each other, and if the officer had suspected anything he would have showed it.”

“Maybe he would and maybe he wouldn’t; you must know that the boy’s photograph has been scattered over the country, and he is likely to be recognized by any countryman.”

“How are you making out with the negotiations?”

“It all looks well enough, if you don’t spoil it by your tomfoolery.  I should not have been surprised to find you had allowed him to go ashore to look around a little.  You must leave here to-morrow morning.  You ought to start to-night.”

“I can do so if you wish it,” said the sailor, rather sulkily.

“It might draw suspicion to you.  No, you can wait till daylight, and then be off.”

“It shall be done.”

“We have managed to throw everybody off the scent pretty well.  They seem to have all sorts of theories except the right one.  It has got into the newspapers, of course.  Some think the boy has been taken to England, others that he is in the South, and others have sworn that he has been seen in company with a man and woman in Canada; but no one imagines as yet that he is on board the schooner Simoon, in the Delaware.”

“How have you made out in your correspondence with the guardians?”

“They have agreed to give me ten thousand dollars if I restore the boy to them, and I have concluded to take it; but you understand, Bob, that it’s a mighty delicate matter to handle.”

“I rather think it is,” growled Bob in reply; “for if they manage to handle us, we’ll fetch up in State prison as sure as we live.”

“We’d be glad to get there away from the mob,” said Hornblower; “for, the way people feel over this business, they would act like a lot of famished lions toward us.”

“If they agree to give what you ask, why don’t you turn over the chap to them and have done with the whole business?  I’m getting tired of dodging about in this fashion, never knowing when they’re going to drop down on us, and feeling as if the prison-door was open just ahead.  It’s got to be wound up pretty soon, or I’ll step out and let you finish it yourself.”