‘Ah! an answer to that question is not easily framed. Perhaps before many hours have passed I may be able to tell you.’
‘Do you think because he’s black he’s the devil, and has spirited Balfour away?’ pursued the skipper, with a defiant air, for he honestly considered that Chunda was being wronged, and he was ready to champion him.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ answered Brodie, with a smile, ‘because if he had been the devil he wouldn’t have committed such a clumsy crime as this.’
‘Well, clumsy as it is, it’s defied you,’ said Jarvis, by no means satisfied or convinced.
‘For the time being it has. But it won’t continue to do so much longer, unless I’m very much mistaken. But it’s no use continuing the argument. A man is judged by his acts, not by his words. If I am wrong, I must abide by the penalty which attaches to failure. If I am right, I shall take credit for some amount of cleverness. You will stay here to-night, won’t you?’
The skipper scratched his head, and looked as though he wasn’t comfortable.
‘Well, upon my word! I don’t know what to say. I’m not a coward, but I’m blowed if I like the idea of passing another night in this uncanny place.’
‘Why?’ Brodie asked with a smile.
‘I should be afraid of seeing Maggie Stiven’s ghost.’
‘And what if you did? A ghost couldn’t do you any harm.’