CHAPTER XII
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
Drenched from head to foot, and standing in a pool of water which drained constantly from him, Harold Joyce might have been excused under the extraordinary conditions if he had forgotten his special mission to the ship on which he had discovered Dudley, for he had suddenly come face to face with one to whom he owed an explanation, and whose forgiveness he could hardly hope to gain. But he remembered the urgency of the position, and, still strong in his resolve to give his warning of attack, he swung round to the other figure standing, pistol in hand, before him.
"You are Mr. Blunt?" he asked.
"I am, my lad."
"Then you have not a moment to lose. I came up the river as a passenger in that other boat which moored up above you. There is a gang of ruffians aboard, who are friends of the men you engaged, and who are now returning here. I learned the tale from an English sailor, who is one of the gang. Quick, sir, they are slacking out their hawser, and dropping down upon you. They mean to rob and kill you."
The words tumbled from him rapidly, while he stepped forward eagerly and laid his hand on Mr. Blunt's arm.
"You haven't a moment to spare," he urged. "They are already only a few yards away, and you must act."
"The scoundrels! A gang letting their boat down on us so as to get aboard? And you say that the men we engaged are in the plot? What is to be done?"
Mr. Blunt stared in astonishment at Harold, and then swung round to look at Dudley, as if to ask his help, for the situation was critical, and though he was a man who had faced many dangers, and was not lacking in resource, yet this warning had come so suddenly, and gave such little time for thought, that he was utterly at a loss. As for Dudley, he could hardly fix his attention on the danger. His eyes were riveted on Harold Joyce, the last person he had expected to meet out in these foreign parts, and the only one who could clear his character. For some months now he had borne the knowledge that he was looked upon as a thief by his old friends and comrades at home. The stigma, in spite of Mr. Blunt's kindly belief in him, still filled his mind with bitterness, and had caused him to register a solemn vow. Deep down in his mind our hero had decided to work for his employer, to improve his position in the world, and never to rest till he had proved to all that he was innocent of theft, that he had been wrongly accused, and was the victim of another's crime. Was it wonderful, therefore, that, finding himself suddenly face to face with the very one whom he knew must be the guilty person—the only person, in fact, who could clear him of the stigma under which he suffered, that question filled his mind to the exclusion of all others? He was helpless! The ruffians might even board the boat and commence their attack, and any defence he might make would be almost automatic. However, Joyce was by no means asleep, while Mr. Blunt had no intention of being taken without a struggle.
"Dudley," he cried sharply, "we must do something. We shall be outnumbered, and if we don't make an effort the rascals will murder all three of us. What are we to do? Quick, lad! Suggest something."