Down in the hold where the platinum was kept, Captain Douglas panted heavily, and stared about him with the haggard look of a man who has received a mortal blow.
Around the two men, the precious cargo had been vandalled. The empty tins were strewn all over the hold. Of all the powdered platinum, perhaps a dozen or two cans remained intact. The rest of it—and no other conclusion was possible—now adorned the steel hull of the Lucifer!
"Bring Tug Skelly to my quarters, Mr. Jackson," Captain Douglas said in a mechanical voice. "Under guard if necessary."
But Tug came to the Captain's cabin without protest, even though he came not too happily. There shone, however, under bo'sun's Caliban countenance, the kind of inner serenity that can only come from doing the right thing regardless of consequences. Captain Douglas eyed the culprit wrathfully.
"Bo'sun Skelly," Douglas shot out when Tug stood before his desk, "all I want you to do is answer one question: Was it you who painted the Lucifer's hull during the last watch?"
Tug shifted his big feet uncomfortably; but his serene expression did not vanish.
"Yes sir," Tug confessed. "I did it for the good of all of us. It jes' had to be done, Cap'n Douglas. Because now those witches—"
"Mr. Skelly!" Douglas cut in shakily, "are you aware that you used eight-hundred-thousand dollars worth of platinum to paint the ship! What are you trying to do, man—" the young skipper's voice rose to a croaked scream—"buy those damned witches off?"
Tug shuddered visibly at the profane reference to the dreaded Giants of the Pass.