"You forget McCrae," said I.
"No, I don't. There was an accident in the engine-room, and the second engineer can bear witness to it, as well as some others. Oh, we stand very well, doctor."
Even as he spoke I saw a shadow steal out of the deeper darkness and draw to his side. I made it out for Pierce, the murderer. I will say that that interruption of the ruffianly boatswain turned unexpectedly the course of my blood. I had seemed somehow to have been dealing with Holgate, as a scoundrel, certainly, yet upon terms of fair warfare. But that shadow struck us all down to a lower level. Murder had been committed, and here was the murderer. Without one word I turned and made my way towards the ladder communicating with the upper deck.
I had no good news to offer to my comrades; indeed, had I spoken quite what was in my thoughts, it was a black prospect with which I must present them. But I did not wish to increase the tension of the situation, and merely recounted the facts I had gathered.
"Thirty against twelve," mused Day, "and there are six true men in the hold. Three head men. We have opened well, gentlemen."
He looked round sarcastically as he spoke, but at once returned to his colder formal manner. "They have the engine-room and we the bridge. That means that their attack will be on the bridge."
"I have no doubt that is what they mean," I said.
"Very well, gentlemen," said Day. "We know exactly where we are now, thanks to Dr. Phillimore. You have your stations. I shall be obliged if you will take them. We are likely to have a lively night."
"And let me say, gentlemen," said the Prince, raising his voice, "that I do not conceive it possible that a pack of mutineers can secure the control of their ship from their officers. It is inconceivable, I repeat. I shall be at your disposal, captain," he turned to Day, "when it is necessary. I will take my share in the common danger and struggle."
There was a murmur of applause at this, and we dispersed to our quarters. Legrand had the bridge, and the man at the wheel was turning the spokes as calmly as if there had been no such thing as an alarm or a rising. Down below all was quiet, and the engines were moving slowly. It was now about one in the morning, and on our beams the wind was rising. The yacht was making about eight knots and no more, and we were still a day's steam from Buenos Ayres. I paced the deck in cover of the chart-house for an hour or more in a condition of nervous impatience. Holgate, I knew, would move deliberately, but when he moved this time he would strike hard.