"You'll go aft!" he said in bitter tones. "We're not taking any chances with you from now on. It's a blym long woiy from here to the port we'll reach some doiy."
Stirling sat upright and reached for the food which the boy had brought on a tin tray. He drank the coffee, smiling as Whitehouse lingered in the open doorway.
The two men locked glances. Stirling's eyes held, steady and penetrating, but Whitehouse turned with a quick oath. "I'll be back," he said over his shoulder as he vanished from the opening.
The galley boy was gathering up the tins and cups when Marr appeared, followed by the mate. The little skipper looked somewhat the worse for the events of the night—his face was unshaven, a splotch of dried seal's blood showed on his cheek, one hand was bandaged, and his eyes were sunken and red-rimmed.
"Had your lock off," he said, as he clapped a hand to his side pocket and strode into the cabin. "Well, you didn't do much. Eagan did it all. At that we got enough seals to make expenses."
Stirling crossed his wrists and clicked the irons.
"Better release me," he said with sincere directness. "It'll go mighty hard, Marr, as it is. A little more and you will swing as sure as there is a law in this sea. I don't doubt that Eagan will manage to run you down. It isn't the time of MacLane and the others whom you have imitated."
"Confound you and Eagan—the stool! He don't know my course."
"He knows you gammed that Japanese sealer off Rat Island. That's almost enough to know. I'd advise you to swing to Dutch Pass, surrender to the port officer there, and get off light."
Marr whipped out a string of imprecations. "I'm a hard man!" he finished by saying. "I brook no interference. You'll go aft and into a strong room, where you'll stay for the balance of the voyage, eh, Mr. Whitehouse?"