"I won't discuss it," he said, "any more. Maybe I was hasty. I won't say I wasn't. But I acted within my rights, and I'll let that young drunkard or lunatic stop there until; I damned well get ready to let him out. We'll say nothing of his story. But take a look around my cabin, just look at; it, and then tell me whether I didn't do the right thing.' He thrust out his jaw, the good eye narrowed in his battered face, and the gold stripes on his sleeves gleamed as he jammed his fists on his hips. But there was something: curiously conciliating about him. "Come now!" he said suddenly. "We're alone. There's no need for you to defend your friend. What's the truth of the matter?"
They could hear the breath whistling from his nose.
"Does this mean, Captain," said Peggy, after a pause in which she seemed taken aback, "that you really don't think Curt is mad, after all? Oooh, you villain! After you ordered those nasty men to manhandle and," she gasped, "and mistreat—"
"I want the truth, madam. The truth, that's all. In my s position—" i
"I say, Captain," said Morgan, after another pause in which Whistler shut his teeth hard, "does this mean something new has happened?"
"Why should it?".
"Oh, I only wondered… He was looking quickly, round the cabin, searching a clue, and then he saw it. j Rolled into a wad at one side of the wardrobe lay what] looked very much like a sheet tied round stained blankets.] "So," said Morgan, "do you mean to tell us a steward saw something queer about the cabin next to Curt's? And went I in and found the berth full of bloodstained sheets? And] then reported to you? Excellent. Here's the razor that was j used in the killing." He took it out of his pocket and laid It on the table, while Whistler stared at him fixedly. "Now everything is fine. All you've done is accuse the wrong man of being a liar and a lunatic, and locked him up under guard. If old Sturton can only get you convicted of criminal negligence to the extent of fifty thousand pounds, the officials of this steamship line will be in an even better humour."
As a matter of fact, he was (despite himself) feeling lorry for the old mackerel. A persistent voice told him that the whole mess was their own fault. All that made him wild was that circumstances seemed conspiring to prevent belief in something he still fiercely felt to be true.
"Murder!" said the captain, in a sort of gulp. "Murder! You have the nerve to stand there and talk to me of murder when there's nobody not accounted for on the whole ship? Where's the murdered person?… And don't try to talk to me about what my superiors will think. I put that young lunatic in confinement for an offence against discipline. That's all. An offence against discipline, wild that's my right. My word is law, and any maritime court—"
"It would make a good story, though," the other pointed out, "printed in the newspapers. Impassioned Defence of Captain Whistler. 'The Dastardly Villain Set on Me with a Dug-powder Gun.' That also would gratify the Green Star Line. Yes, it would. In your eye."