Pete could not answer.
“What do they do when a man is accused of murder?” asked Code.
“Why, arrest him, I guess.”
Pete scratched his chin reminiscently. “There was that Bulwer case.” He recounted it in detail. “Yes,” he went on, “they can’t do nothin’ until the man accused is arrested.
“After that he gets a preliminary hearin’, and, if things seem plain enough, then the grand jury indicts him. After that he’s tried by a reg’lar jury. So the fust thing they’ve got to do is arrest you.”
“Darn it, they sha’n’t––I’ll sail to Africa first!” snarled Code, his eyes blazing. He strode up and down the deck.
“You say the word, skipper,” rumbled Pete loyally, “an’ we crack on every stitch fer the north pole!”
Code smiled.
“Curse me if I don’t like to see a man smile when he’s in trouble,” announced Pete roundly. “Skipper, you’ll do. You’re young, an’ these things come hard, but I cal’late we’ll drop all this talk about sailin’ away to furrin parts.