Cray, his voice edged, face pale, sneered:
“Changed your tune, hey? Now you found this useless junk, you figure you’ll let them diamonds go, hey? But you figure without Cray. I’ll have this ship apart, if need be, but I’ll lay hands on them stones. I’ll—”
“You’ll go easy!” Captain Bain thundered. He was becoming himself rapidly now. “You’ll keep quiet. There’s others besides Quayle can be locked in their cabins, and nothing said of it. And I’m master of this ship, by God!”
“And if—” Cray smiled, though he was still under tension, although that smile was not a pleasant one. “If I told you the truth, would you sing small, I wonder?”
“Truth? My God! Truth?” the badgered skipper rasped. “You tell the truth? What in hell are you, to tell the truth?”
“A detective,” said Cray softly, “a detective.”
The captain stared, at first unbelieving; then he wilted. Too many little things on Cray’s side. The chances were that he might be. Certainly he’d acted like one at times. And if he were, what of the Cora, of her secret sins?
“A detective?” he gasped.
From behind Cray came another voice; the cabin door swung open.
“A detective? That’s fine; for there are two of us, then, my dear Cray.”