“How’d you like ten thousand dollars in your fist?” asked Rantan, “twenty—thirty—there’s no knowing what it might come to, and all for no work at all but just watching kanakas diving for pearls.”
Carlin glanced sideways at his companion.
“What are you getting at?” asked he.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Rantan, “I know of a pearl island and it’s not far from here. It’s a sealed lagoon, never been worked, and there’s enough there to make a dozen men rich, but to get there I’d want a ship, but I haven’t got one nor the money to charter one; I’m like you, see?”
“What are you getting at?” asked Carlin again, a new tone in his voice.
“I’m just saying I haven’t a ship,” replied the other, “but I know where to get one if I could find a chap to help me in the taking of her.”
Carlin leaned further over the rail and spat again into the sea. With terrible instinct he had taken up the full meaning of the other.
“And how about the kanakas?” asked he, “kanakas are dam’ fools, but get them into a court of law and they’re bilge pumps for turning up the evidence. I’ve seen it,” he finished, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “A sinking job it was, and the chap that did it got ten years, on kanaka evidence.”
Rantan laughed. “Leave the kanakas to me,” said he, “I’m putting it to you—if I’ve the sand to do the job, would you help?”
“I’m not saying I wouldn’t,” said Carlin, “but what about the navigating? You aren’t much good on that job ... or are you? I’m thinking maybe you’ve been holding it up your sleeve.”