Miller's even voice broke across the tension.
"Captain Aylmer refuses any relaxations," he said urbanely. "Why not accept the fact?"
Landon swung round.
"Do you think I daren't?" he cried menacingly. "Do you think I daren't go the whole hog? If I swing him overboard, who's to tell? By the Lord, I've a mind for it—and to make myself safe with the rest of you, too. I've a mind, a very good mind, to rid myself of the lot of you!"
"And live afterwards—on what?" replied Miller very quietly.
There was silence, more than a moment of it. Landon's fingers sought and found purchase upon the wood partition. His glance dwelled upon Miller, debatingly. Slowly the flush died from his cheek.
And then he laughed again, harshly, unmirthfully, even apologetically, so it seemed, but as if the apology were to himself. He motioned Miller to the door. He laid the basket upon the floor.
"Make the most of it," he said. He hesitated. "And don't count on my—my good-humor—again." Without a backward look, he placed the lantern on the table and banged the door.
Claire made no comment; her whole desire was to dull all sense of emotion from the situation. She laid her hand upon the basket; she drew out a bottle of wine; she found a tin cup and filled it. She did it all with matter-of-factness; she did not spare a glance towards the floor.
And then she knelt beside him, put her arm behind his back, helped him to shuffle into an uneasy leaning posture against the bulkhead. She brought him the cup.