"Well, Hawkins," said Dixon. "Here you see one of them, and if we can only catch the other we shall be all right. They are two of the most dangerous members of the 'Black Hand'...."
"That's a lie," broke in Tom angrily. "I am a Swede, and my name is Thomas Murner. Look here, here are my..." He was going to say "papers" but when he put his hand in his pocket he found they had gone; his pocket-book had been taken from him during the struggle in the corridor.
"Your what?" said Dixon derisively. "Your weapon? No, you are harmless for the present, my friend. We found your hiding place in the larboard boat. Detective Ferail, my guest, has reason to be proud of his catch. Now tell us who your companion was, and where he has gone to?"
Tom bit his lip and said nothing. It was not worth while entering into any explanation with Hawkins, who, simple and honest seafaring man man as he was, surveyed him with some curiosity and distrust.
"So you won't answer?" continued Dixon. "You can go now, Captain, and resume the the search until the other fellow is found."
The captain took his leave. When he had gone Dixon burst out laughing. "You do look surprised, Mr. Murner; isn't our little joke to your taste? I am afraid it will have to be carried on a little longer though; but, no doubt, you understand that resistance can only lead to harder conditions, and make matters worse for you, and that, with or without your consent, you must be our guest until the gold is hauled up. You see?" He gave Tom a cold and searching look.
"And then?" inquired Tom as calmly as he could.
"After that our ways will lie apart, you and your bashful, retiring friend will be sent on a little pleasure trip to ... shall we say ... Australia? Naturally, under the supervision of our good Hawkins."
Toroni remarked quietly:
"Much too much talk. I should have settled this business in a much simpler manner..."