Captain Cleaver’s face was very pale now, and he bit his lips, as he replied:
“I can take you, Captain Dickson, your six men, Mr Hall and the ladies, but I cannot sail with this young fellow.” He pointed to Reginald. “It may be mere superstition on my part,” he continued, “but I am an old sailor, you know, and old sailors have whims.”
“I cannot see why I should be debarred from a passage home,” said Reginald.
“I am a plain man,” said Cleaver, “and I shall certainly speak out, if you pretend you do not know.”
“I do not know, and I command you to speak out.”
“Then I will. In Britain there is a price set upon your head, sir, and you are branded as a murderer!”
Dickson and Hall almost started from their seats, but Reginald was quiet, though deathly white.
“And—and,” he said, in a husky voice, “whom am I accused of murdering?”
“Your quondam friend, sir, and rival in love, the farmer Craig Nicol.”
“I deny it in toto!” cried Reginald.