"That's very nice of you, Beetle."
"Not a bit; it won't prevent me from getting even with you the first chance I see."
"You'll find that difficult."
"I shall stick at nothing."
His face darkened. He had shaved himself clean since the night, and as he showed me his teeth I thought I had never seen so vile a mouth. It had degenerated dreadfully since his boyhood.
"Take care," he snarled; "you're being done pretty well so far. You've the second best stateroom aboard, and the cuddy tucker's all right. Don't you forget we've got a hold and irons, and rats and rancid pork as well!"
He turned on his heel, and I walked to the binnacle. Next moment he joined me there, dropping a hand upon my shoulder.
"East-by-south-a-quarter-east," said he; "we cleared the Heads last night—bound for Rio Grande, or something like it—and that chunk on the port bow is Wilson Promontory. So now you know. And look here, Beetle, old chap, you've been good to me; I don't want to be rough on you. Did you really think I was going to do as we said? My good fellow, how could you? See here, Beetle: the yacht's a well-known yacht, Watson's a well-known yachtsman, and he was in Melbourne to divert suspicion the day I did the trick. He stands in for his share. Why not stand in yourself? You've earned your little bit, if anybody has!"
"I thought you didn't want to be rough on me," said I wearily. "Have you got it all aboard?"
"Have I not! Every penny-piece!"