“The two men I suspected,” whispered the captain to Dutch. “We’ve been on the wrong scent throughout.”
“Miss Studwick had better go with my wife into the forecabin,” said Dutch; and his lips trembled as at the words “my wife” he heard a faint sob. Then there was a low rustling noise, and in a moment more all was still.
“Now, captain, quickly,” said Dutch; “had you not better serve out the arms?”
“They would have been served out before now, Pugh,” was the reply, “if we had had them.”
“You don’t mean,” gasped Dutch, as he recollected missing his own pistol from its shelf in the little cabin.
“I mean that while our minds have been fixed on the silver,” said the captain bitterly, “sharper brains than ours have been dead on seizing the golden opportunities. I have searched and there is not a weapon left.”
A low murmur ran round the cabin; and then there was perfect silence, as they all stood there in the pitchy darkness and stifling heat—for the wind-sail had been withdrawn—listening intently to the sounds above, for it was evident now that some fresh disturbance was on foot—in fact, the noise of the discovery of Oakum now began to reach their ears, accompanied directly after by the sound of shots.
“They are not all enemies on deck, then,” said Dutch, eagerly. “Who can that be?”
“It must be Oakum or Mr Jones,” exclaimed the captain.
“Surely we have more true men on board than that,” said Dutch, who in this time of emergency seemed to take the lead.