"Then who the devil engaged the others, I'd like to know?" asked Day, in his old irritable tone; at which, to the astonishment of all, a small voice broke the silence.
"I did, sir."
We all wheeled round. It was Pye. The little man fixed his gold glasses on his nose with two fingers in his nervous way, and blinked through them at us, unruffled as a cock-sparrow that yet had doubts.
"He, by heaven!" whispered Legrand to me, with infinite scorn. "He chose 'em!"
"And I regret to find, sir," pursued Pye, "that some of them have gone wrong. I feel myself in a way responsible."
"It all comes of putting things in the hands of lawyers," said Lane, with innocent recklessness.
Day looked down his nose. "Well, Mr. Pye," he said drily, "we'll try to forgive you. You fell in with the wrong crowd. If I had known——" he paused. "The question is, how are we to get in touch with the faithful men who may be in the forecastle?"
"If you will allow me, sir, I will venture into the forecastle and find out," said Pye, with a restrained sense of importance.
"You!" cried Day in amazement, and there was a general burst of laughter, except on the part of the Prince, who was eyeing Pye severely, and on the part of myself, who did not see anything for ridicule in the unexpected courage of a timid man.
"I feel in a way responsible," repeated Pye; but his protest was feeble in effort, for Day put him curtly aside.