Runnells sat up with a jerk.
"What the 'ell are you doing?" he ejaculated.
"Striking a match," said Captain Francis Newcombe, as he lighted a cigarette. "You don't mind, do you? It saves the deck."
Runnells, with a grunt, returned his head to the comfort of the coiled rope.
"Locke turned in?" inquired Captain Francis Newcombe casually.
"About ten minutes after you left," said Runnells. "That engine did him down, if you ask me. I mixed him a peg, and he was off like a shot."
"Well, I don't know of anything better to do myself," said Captain Francis Newcombe.
He turned and walked slowly toward the cabin companionway; but aft by the rail he paused for a moment, and, flinging his cigarette overboard, watched it as it struck the water, and listened as it made a tiny hiss—like a serpent's hiss.
His face for an instant became distorted, then set in hard, deep lines.
Who was it?