At the moment it seemed strange that Billy’s story should so powerfully have affected me, but the fact remains that it did. After we had turned in that night I lay restlessly tossing upon my bed, wondering—wondering whether Van Ryn’s questioning of Billy was the natural result of pure, unadulterated inquisitiveness, or whether it had a deeper significance. The conversation appeared to have arisen naturally enough. I could not detect in the relation of it any indication of a deliberate attempt on the part of the man to lead up to the subject of Billy’s educational acquirements; what reason, indeed, could he have for doing so, apart from the lad’s more refined mode of speech? The matter that most powerfully exercised me was the Dutchman’s eager curiosity to discover the full extent of Billy’s qualifications as a navigator. Yet, even as to this, there seemed little enough reason for uneasiness; the man had given a quite plausible reason for such curiosity, a reason that I could perfectly understand and appreciate; but I wondered whether it was the true, the actual reason; or was there another and more sinister one at the back of his evil mind.
In any case, what, I wondered, could have put the thought in the Dutchman’s head that something might possibly happen to me while we were at sea. Certainly the experience had already befallen him once since the commencement of the voyage; but with men of such limited intelligence as that of Van Ryn and Svorenssen even such an experience as that usually makes so very transitory an impression that it soon fades. Moreover, the difficulty had been surmounted, and they would naturally believe that, should it again arise, it could again be surmounted in the same way. The only reason that I could think of why such an idea should have taken so strong a hold upon the Dutchman’s mind was that, under certain circumstances, the eventuality of which he had spoken might be very much more than possible: it might be inevitable.
Reasoning thus, I next asked myself the question: Should anything happen to me—should I, for instance, die, either aboard the cutter or before leaving the islands—how would my death affect the fortunes of those two men, Svorenssen and Van Ryn, to say nothing of that of Billy? And why should it be desired to get rid of me?
Those were not difficult questions to answer. In either of the above hypothetical cases the boy would be absolutely in the power and at the mercy of the two men; and I shuddered to think of what would happen to him, with me out of the way. Svorenssen and Van Ryn were both big powerful men, and, should they resort to violence, what could a boy do by way of resisting them? Then the cutter was now so far advanced that, at a pinch, the two seamen could complete her, launch her, and make her ready for sea without my assistance. Their escape from the group was therefore in any case assured; while, so far as the navigation of the craft was concerned, they had already wormed out of Billy the information that he was competent to undertake that.
But if the two seamen were actually conspiring against me, as I now began to think was at least probable, their primary object would doubtless be to secure the whole of the treasure for themselves. They doubtless recognised that so long as I—a man as powerful as either of them, with a mind already tinctured with suspicion of them—lived, to attempt to secure more than their fair share of the treasure might be both difficult and dangerous, and possibly even result in failure. But with me effectually disposed of the enterprise would wear a totally different aspect. They would complete the cutter, sail away in her, with the treasure on board and Billy as navigator, willing or unwilling, and upon arriving within sight of their destination they would murder the poor boy; and the rest would be easy—or so they would probably believe. Yes; knowing the men so well as I did, I felt that there was ground for suspicion of them, and I resolved that, without appearing to do so, I would henceforth keep a wary eye upon them both, and be constantly, day and night, on my guard against any act of treachery on their part.
Now it was not often that Billy did anything foolish; but boys will always be boys, to the end of time, I expect; and about a week after the lad’s conversation with me on the subject of Van Ryn’s inquisitiveness the spirit of mischief suddenly seized him and, “just for a lark”, as he subsequently admitted to me, he must needs leave the Dutchman, upon some pretence, run up to the house, and then pay us a visit at the shipyard, bringing Kit with him on a leash, that he might enjoy the consternation of the natives at the sight of the leopard. It was fortunate that I spotted the pair when I did, for the beast was already beyond Billy’s control and dragging the lad helplessly after him with the evident determination to interview the strangers more closely. The animal, although not yet fully grown, had developed into a magnificent specimen of his kind, as big as a mastiff and about twice as powerful. To hold him when I hurriedly relieved Billy of his charge taxed my strength to such an extent that I was obliged to shout to the workers to quit work and get into hiding at a safe distance; but, even so, the scent of the men excited Kit to such an extent that it was only with the utmost difficulty I was able to drag him back to the bungalow and safely lash him up.
I was therefore not very greatly surprised when, after work was over that evening, Svorenssen approached me and said:
“See here, Mister, did ye happen to salve the arms chest from the wreck before she washed off the reef and foundered?”
“Yes,” I said. “What about it?”
“Why, just this,” he blustered. “Me and Dirk wants a brace of revolvers, cartridges, and a cutlash apiece out of that chest. That’s what about it.”