“Mowbray,” he hissed, turning deathly white. “Mowbray! Who has been talking to you about Mowbray? Tell me, and I’ll cut his lying tongue out of his mouth!”
“Brave words,” I said, “very brave words, but they would not frighten the individual who told me the history of poor Mr Mowbray’s mysterious disappearance through the stern window.”
“Tell me who it was, and what he said?” he demanded hoarsely.
“No,” I answered him. “I will reserve that story for other ears than yours.”
“Very well,” he said. “Then I promise you that you shall not live to tell that story.” And turning to one of the men who were standing by, he said:
“Cast this young cockerel loose, take him down to his cabin, lock him in, and bring the key to me.”
And two minutes later I found myself below in a very comfortable cabin that had been cleared out and prepared for me, locked in, and with no company but my own rather disagreeable thoughts.