He turned his eye full-blaze upon the other.
"It is this, Mr. Dark—that you have been paid to sell me to the French."
The giant was stone. Not a muscle twitched. Then the tip of his tongue journeyed round his lips. The lips moved. Kit read the words on them, though no sound came.
They were,
"Not paid."
Nelson waited, breathing deep. Receiving no answer, he went on,
"The story so far as I can make it out is this."
Calm and twanging, he stood by the port-hole, and outlined to his alleged murderer-to-be the story of his plot. That mighty man could have crumpled him in one hand, and tossed him through the port-hole. And the giant knew it—so much his eyes betrayed. And the boy, watching from his corner, knew it too. Only the little lopped man talking through his nose across the cabin seemed unaware of it.
The shrill voice ceased. There was silence in the cabin.
"That's the story, Mr. Dark. And I may say I don't believe one word of it."