“This means state prison for you! You were guilty of barratry before, and you know it! How did you dare to try this last trick?”
“I had my orders.”
“Orders from what man?”
“No matter. You needn't ask. I won't tell.” The stranger was sullen, and had recovered some of his assurance, now that his fear of the dynamite was removed.
“You're a lunatic. You ought to have known you couldn't pull off a thing of this kind.”
“I don't know about that! It was working pretty slick. If she had split and gone off these ledges, you couldn't have proved anything special. I've got good backing. You better let me go.”
Mayo glared at him, deprived of speech by this effrontrery.
“You'd better come over with the big fellows,” advised the man. “I can tell you right now that every hole in Limeport has been plugged against you. You can't hire equipment there, or get a cent's credit. It has all been nicely attended to. You're here fooling with a dead duck. You'd be better off if that dynamite had been let alone to split her.”
The entire uselessness of words in a situation like this, the inadequacy of speech to meet such brazen boldness, checked Mayo's oath-peppered anathema. He pulled the key from the stateroom door and menaced the prisoner with his fist when the man started to follow him out.
“You don't dare to keep me aboard here! Take warning by what they have already done to you, Mayo! I'm sure of my backing.”