“Tomorrow morning we got a couple of hours,” Cray went on. “When we find that necklace—”
“We give it up, and get clear of—”
“Like hell! We keep it!” Cray corrected him. “Or I keep it. Never mind how. I’ll pin the job on one of them. Don’t you worry.”
The captain stared at him, aghast.
“But they’ll search the ship.”
“Let ’em. They won’t find it.” Cray got up. “I left Drake in my monkey- house. Best get him out of there. Tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow.”
The captain looked out the door, as Cray opened it. The hills of the south shore of the Gulf stood out grim and gray, somber, all shadow. Tomorrow. Well, sooner it comes, sooner over.
The two big sailors dragged Quayle, protesting, out of his cabin. A strangely ungrateful man he seemed. Up on the boat deck Drake heard the row.
“What’s that?” he asked.