“I shall,” ejaculated Lingard. He left the cabin calling out “serang!” A thin cracked voice was heard immediately answering, “Tuan!” and the door slammed to.
“You trust him, Mrs. Travers?” asked Carter, rapidly.
“You do not—why?” she answered.
“I can't make him out. If he was another kind of man I would say he was drunk,” said Carter. “Why is he here at all—he, and this brig of his? Excuse my boldness—but have you promised him anything?”
“I—I promised!” exclaimed Mrs. Travers in a bitter tone which silenced Carter for a moment.
“So much the better,” he said at last. “Let him show what he can do first and . . .”
“Here! Take this,” said Lingard, who re-entered the cabin fumbling about his neck. Carter mechanically extended his hand.
“What's this for?” he asked, looking at a small brass key attached to a thin chain.
“Powder magazine. Trap door under the table. The man who has this key commands the brig while I am away. The serang understands. You have her very life in your hand there.”
Carter looked at the small key lying in his half-open palm.