“Yes. I’ve sounded the others a second time to make sure. But Larson knew Madigan in some little town up the Sound. What’s more he’s no good to us. He’s ambitious and he’s working for a mate’s certificate, got a good family, and he won’t keep his mouth shut. I know he won’t.”
Brack made a sound in his throat like a bear growling.
“Oh, yes he will,” he said. “I’ll have a talk with him. He’ll keep his mouth shut when he understands there’s something in it for him. He’s one of the lookouts tonight, isn’t he? All right. Tell Garvin I want to see him in your cabin in half an hour.”
“Yes sir.”
A door slid open and shut as Riordan slipped back into his cabin, and I heard Brack’s heavy breathing as he came around the corner toward where I was hiding.
I retreated, swiftly and noiselessly, and slipped back into my stateroom. All hope that Pierce’s interpretation of Brack’s conversation with Garvin was wrong now had vanished. Brack was plotting something, and Riordan was partner to it, whatever it was. I did not sleep much that night.
In the morning I went in to breakfast early and found Wilson sitting staring at a cup of black coffee which he had ordered. One glance at the gravity of his lean, brown face and I knew that something was wrong.
“What has happened, Mr. Wilson?” I asked nervously.
Without lifting his eyes he said—
“Lookout Larson was swept overboard and lost from his watch last night.”