He was used to all this; but now, with his nerves on edge, this cowardice of Grayson's grated.
"Where are the Nine Men of Cadiz?" demanded Grayson, the sweat rolling down his cheeks. "Where is Bortuski? Where is Morson? Where is Couthwright? Zillier, we know where he is, or was, but where are the others? You and me and Count Poltavo and the rest—phutt!" He made a little noise with his mouth. "I know!" he said. He raised a trembling finger accusingly.
"My dear man," said Baggin lazily, though his face was white and his lips firm-pressed. "There was the storm——"
"That's a lie!" screamed Grayson, beating the air with his hands; "that's a lie! The storm didn't take Kohr from his bunk and leave blood on his pillow! It didn't make Morson's cabin smell of chloroform! I know, I know!"
"There is such a thing as knowing too much," said George T. Baggin, rising unsteadily. "Grayson," he said, "I've been a good friend of yours because I sort of like you in spite of your foolishness. Our friends perished in the storm; it wasn't a bad thing for us, taking matters all round. If this manifesto of ours doesn't secure us a pardon, we can risk making a run for safety. There are fewer of us to blab. See here"—he sat down on the side of the other's chair and dropped his voice—"suppose we can't shock this old world into giving us a free pardon, and the sun gets too warm for us, as it will sooner or later——"
"Suppose it!" Grayson burst in. "Do you think there's an hour of the day or night when I don't suppose it? Lord! I——"
"Listen, can't you?" said Baggin savagely. "When that happens, what are we to do? We've buried gold on the African coast; we've buried it on the South American coast——"
"All the crew know. We're at the mercy——"
"Wait, wait!" said the other wearily. "Suppose there comes a time when we must make a dash for safety—with the steam pinnace. Slipping away in the night when the men of the watch are doped. You and your daughter, and me, Poltavo, and the Admiral"—he bent his head lower—"leaving a time-fuse in the magazine," he whispered. "There's a way out for us, my friend! We are going to make one last effort," he went on. "Between here and 'Lolo' we fall in with the outward-bound, intermediate Cape mail. It shall be our last attack upon civilisation."
"Don't do it!" begged Grayson; "for the love of Heaven, don't do it, Baggin!"