The captain seemed slightly awed.
"Isn't there any justice?" he inquired suddenly, and looked rather blankly about the cabin. "In all God's green earth, isn't there any justice? What have I done to deserve (his?"
It was only the beginning of a genuinely powerful, if rather pathetic, oration, for which there was undeniably dome justification. It was pitched in a rather Biblical strain. Captain Whistler pointed out and enumerated his afflictions. Masked foreigners, he said, attacked him with stilettos and bottles. Uninsured jewels belonging to?!<£&/!! viscounts were stolen while murdering thieves posed as Harley Street doctors at his table. Blood-stained blankets and razors mysteriously appeared in the cabins; women vanished but did not vanish; the nephews of eminent American administrators first went mad and gibbered of bears and geography then ran amok with bug-powder guns, tried to poison him and finally threatened him with razors. Indeed, an unprejudiced listener would have decided that the situation aboard the Queen Victoria was past hope. An unprejudiced listener would have said this boat had been chosen for the annual convention of the Ancient Order of Sorcerers, and that the boys must have been showing off a bit. Captain Whistler said it was too much. He said he was a strong man, but he would rather be thrown to the sharks.
"I know it, Captain," Morgan agreed, uncomfortably, when the typhoon began to die and the skipper went to pour himself a drink with shaking hands. "And, believe it or not, we feel as badly about it as you do. So the first thing we must do—"
"There is nothing to do," said the other, with finality, "except maybe get drunk."
"… is to join forces and start to unwind this tangle. So here's a guarantee of good faith. We'll go with you to Sturton and clear you absolutely. We'll say we saw you suddenly struck down without a chance to defend yourself; for all you know, it may be true… "
"You'd do that?" demanded the skipper, sitting up. "I was damned if I'd ask a favour of you, but if you would— could… man, I'll do anything. I'll even let that madman out of the brig."
Morgan reflected. "As a matter of fact," he said, hesitantly, "for the next few hours I'd rather you didn't."
"Hank!" said Peggy. But she stopped.
"Yes, you see how it is," nodded Morgan, after some thought. "When we thought the captain wouldn't listen to reason, we'd have blown the wall down to get him out. But if we do have co-operation — have we Captain?"