“Down the companion,” said Patricia. “And don’t try to get away or shout or anything. There’s bound to be shooting sooner or later, and it might as well start on you.”
Maggs complied to the letter. He was too old a hand not to recognise a bluff when he saw one, and he knew that this slip of a girl with the two guns wasn’t bluffing. He went slowly down the companion and waited, and in a moment he heard her step down on the deck behind him, and again the revolver nosed into the small of his back.
“Now—where’s the Tiger?”
He chuckled.
“You’re wrong there, you! The Tiger isn’t coming on this trip—he was persuaded not to.”
“Where would you like to be shot?” she asked frostily.
“That won’t alter it,” said Maggs. “I tell you, the Tiger isn’t on board. I can’t tell you why, and I can’t tell you where he is, but the other guys arrived without him, and said he might come later or probably he mightn’t come at all. You can ask Bittle.”
She could not decide whether the man was lying or not, but she sensed that he was manœuvring for an opportunity to turn the tables on her.
“Where is Bittle?”
“The left-hand cabin.”