"More or less," Dumont spat out the words with venom. "It means that the Skipper promised me the girl, eh? And that now he will try——"
"You bloody fool!" roared Ericksen, smashing his big fist down on the table. "Don't it mean squalls ahead of us all? Don't it mean that instead of havin' her to deal with, now we have him too? Don't it mean that he's signed up for a share in old Hathaway's leavin's? And if we don't scuttle him, then he'll scuttle us!"
Dumont caressed his moustache, his dark yes narrowed and alert.
"Mille tonnerre!" he ejaculated slowly. "You are right. He is the old man's son-in-law, eh? Ah, but you have the head, my friend! You see the things, yes! And her signature would be no good, eh?"
Ericksen rammed tobacco into his pipe and held his peace for a moment, until the briar was smoking.
"Now," he said shortly, "that train leaves to-night at one bell?"
"Eight and the half," assented Dumont with a nod.
"He's goin' to call for her about eight bells, see? He'll prob'ly be in his room stowin' his dunnage bag about six bells. You have to scuttle him, Frenchy—all proper. Open the sea-cocks and stand by the ship till she's gone. No mistake!"
"And the madame?" queried Dumont. "Who will call for her?"
"I will. And this here note you've written——"