“Think!—a man has been lost already off this ship.”
“Indeed?” said Sagesse, his hand falling from his glass to the pocket of his coat.
“Murdered, mordieu!” said the other, who was now white to the lips.
Next moment he had flung himself across the table. He was not a second too soon. Sagesse had drawn a revolver from his pocket; it was a stupid act and unlike him, but his strange character, so antagonistic as a rule to anger and violence, had become infected with the rage of his vis-a-vis; he felt, perhaps, that Gaspard in surprising his deed had now a hold upon him, that the crew, bowed by his will as they were, would, if brought before one of those infernal examining magistrates, inevitably break down, contradict each other and give him away. Anger, uppermost in his mind for a second, dictated the attempt to destroy this witness. But Gaspard was too quick for him. He had seized him by the wrist with an iron grip, the muzzle of the revolver was pointing to the roof of the deck-house. The whole thing had happened in a flash, with scarcely a sound, and had you looked in through the door you might have fancied the two men were larking. But a second glance would have shown you that Gaspard, half lying across the table, had seized a knife in his left hand.
“Drop it,” said Gaspard, “or, sang-Dieu, I will drive this through your heart—assassin!”
Sagesse, whose anger had vanished, released his clutch on the revolver. It fell on the table, and Gaspard, seizing it, resumed his seat.
Sagesse, rising from his, went quietly to the door, which was half open, closed it, and turned to his companion.
“We are fools,” he said. “Sit down. I am not coming near you. But to quarrel like this—we are fools!”
“I may be a fool, but I am not a murderer.”
Sagesse pointed to the knife that had fallen on the table, and laughed as he re-took his seat.