“I give you my word of honour as a gentleman and an American, I did not realize the true conditions until tonight. Perhaps I might have found out in time to upset their plans,—but that is doubtful. These men are smart. They are natural born plotters. They are dark men with dark souls. This fellow Fernandez has fooled me completely. He is a gay, smiling boy, but now that I have heard Madame Obosky's account of him, I recall many little traits in his make-up that go far to substantiate my new opinion of him. I never quite understood till now why he hated you, Percival. Frankly, I knew that he had it in his heart to kill you. Crust has told me of his difficulty in keeping him from running a knife into you. I thought it was all talk, boyish bravado,—but now I know he meant it.”
He lifted his head and set his jaw. “Gentlemen, I have a shameful confession to make. Ever since I can remember, my sole thought has been to rule. I did not know what it was to take orders from another man until I came to this island. My whole being has been in revolt. The thought uppermost in my mind for two years has been to re-establish myself as a dominating force. To that end, I have played pretty bad politics. I have worked upon the credulity and cupidity of these men, promising them positions of authority if I were chosen by vote to govern the affairs of this island. But, I am sure you all will believe me when I say that it was my purpose to administer those affairs honestly, fairly and as capably as I knew how. I was not only deceived by these men, but by myself as well. I have played, like a blundering fool, into their hands. My chagrin is beyond words. I can only say to you now that you may count upon my unfailing support in any action you may decide to take. My forebears were honest, loyal, law-abiding Americans. I—I think I may say without fear of contradiction that it is impossible for me to run otherwise than true to form.
“I lied, Percival, to Ruth Clinton about the encounter in my stateroom on the Doraine. Believe me or not as you see fit, but I think that was the only deliberate lie I have ever told in my life. I have done a great many high-handed things, I have been inconsiderate of others, I have crushed opposition in my own way, I have never allowed myself to acknowledge defeat. My hand has been against you since the day you appeared on the decks of the Doraine. It was not in my nature to see good in you. To me, you were a good-for-nothing—Well, I'm glad to see you smile! That is the devil with you,—your confounded smile. I ask you to overlook what I have said, and done—and been, Percival,—and shake hands. You have nothing to apologize for. There never has been a time in all these months that I have not felt you to be a real man, an honest one, and a gentleman. I think I know an honest man when I see one,—indeed, it is my business to read men,—and I rarely make a mistake.”
As the two men shook hands, Randolph Fitts remarked drily:
“Seems to me I remember your saying something of the sort the first day you ever laid eyes on A. A., Abel.”
“The trouble is,” put in Soapy Shay sarcastically, “you don't know a dishonest one when you see him, Bill.”
“Veil, let's get down to business,” said Moses Block nervously. “Ve must go slow and careful-like. If we show our hands too soon, they will uprise and—veil, I don't know vat!”
“Mr. Mott, what would you do if you got wind of a plot like this aboard ship?” inquired Percival, his eyes narrowing.
“I would have the whole gang in chains before morning. Then I'd give 'em a taste of the 'cat' at daybreak, and before noon I'd have the ringleaders hanging from a yard-arm,” said Andrew Mott, succinctly.
“Oh, my gracious!” gulped Mr. Block.