But King continued looking at McCartney without speaking a word. Gabe tugged a moment at King's arm, but King moved him gently to one side. His whole attention was centred on McCartney, who had taken his hand from the bunk and was doing his best to stand erect and return King's gaze. Once he took a couple of steps towards King, but his knees wobbled and he was forced to put a hand out again to keep himself from falling. Then he looked at King with a sneer on his lips.
"What the hell—are you doin'—here?" he asked, in a voice that was thick and unsteady.
King did not reply.
"It won't do you no good—comin' round here—interferin' between Keith McBain an' me," McCartney went on. "That's my affair an' you keep out."
Still King did not offer to say a word.
But someone else spoke up from behind King.
"Go on back to your bunk, Bill," said the voice. "You're too drunk to talk that way to-night."
"Drunk?" sneered Bill McCartney, and for a moment he seemed suddenly to sober up. "Well, I'll tell you this. I may be drunk but I know what brings this son of a dog here where he ain't wanted—an' he knows. He's payin' a visit—a reg'lar visit."
King's frame straightened up and his jaw set firmly.
"But he's welcome, he can have her," McCartney continued. "He can ask her who was with her last night—ask Gabe there."