"Which one was it?" gasped Charley, cold at the thought.
"Jacobs," said his father. "And lucky for us that he didn't do it. Mr. Grigsby has a sharp ear. Why, we wouldn't have lasted a minute in that sea. Now, wasn't that a cowardly thing even to think of?"
"I'd feared it," admitted Mr. Grigsby. "But it didn't seem possible, in any human being. Last night was a good night for it—and I suppose the davits would have looked as though the boat had been torn loose by a sea. Whew! I ought to have shot the scoundrel without parleying."
"What'll we do about it?" quavered Charley, sitting down hard on the bench. He felt weak.
"It's all over with, so don't be scared, boy," encouraged his father. "A miss is as good as a mile, you know. We're safe, after this. Oh, Mr. Grigsby and I've decided there's little to be done. Of course, here's the knife for evidence, and we'll speak to the captain; but there's nothing else to do. We have to look out for ourselves."
After breakfast Mr. Adams brought aft, not the captain, but the first mate. He was the same official who had objected to their using the boat at all.
"So you think somebody was bent on cutting that boat down, do you?" he queried, brusquely, of Mr. Grigsby.
"I don't think so; I know it," returned Mr. Grigsby.
"How do you know it?"
"Because I knocked him down and took his knife."