"Sink me," he growled, "I thought it couldn't be gun-runnin' when there was wimmin mixed up in it. Didn't I say so, Tagg?"
"You did," agreed Tagg again.
"Gun-running!" repeated von Kerber, "You mean carrying contraband arms, yes? What put that into your head?"
"I've not bin cap'n of a ship nigh on fifteen years without larnin' the importance of knowin' wot she's loaded with," said Stump. "Big or little, in package or bulk, I go through her manifest, an' cheek, it, too."
The Baron laughed softly. He was pale, probably as the result' of his wounds, but he was inflexible in his resolve to arrive at an understanding with his lieutenants before the remaining passengers put in an appearance.
"Ganz gut, herr capitan!" he cried. "You must have seen our supply of firearms and cartridges, yes?"
"Twenty rifles, twenty-five revolvers, an' enough ammunition to fight a small war." Stamp ticked off each item slowly and looked at Tagg as though he expected him to cry "Tally!"
"Ah! That is well put, yes? If we are called on to fight a small war, as you say, have we got the right sort of men on board? I had to trust to chance. It was the only way. I could not talk plainly in England, you see."
"I don't know much about 'em," said Stump. "I can answer for myself an' Tagg, an' from wot I hear, Mr. King has a heart of the right size. As for the others, I'll run the rule over 'em between here an' Port Said. If I have any doubts about one or two, we can ship 'em home on a P. an' O. But, from the cut of their jibs, most of 'em are deserters from the Royal Navy, an' the remainder are army reserve men. That sort of crowd is pretty tough, eh, Tagg?"
"Tough!" echoed Tagg. "If they're 'lowed to eat three solid meals every day like the Lord Mayor's banquets they've put out o' sight since they kem aboard, there'll be no holdin' 'em."