The big sailor pulled himself together with an effort, stood up, then turned toward his captain.
Blueneck and the little man in the blanket also rose.
Black’erchief Dick had not changed his position. The big pistol and the slender knife lay side by side on his small white palm, and he still smiled as he spoke again:
“Now my noble son of an ox,” he began pleasantly, his white teeth shining, “if it so happened that this day you had to die——” A hasty flush spread over the giant’s face, but otherwise he made no sign. Black’erchief Dick continued, “If, I say,” he repeated, “that this day you had to die, which of these beautiful toys would you choose as a means to death?”
He held his open hand a little nearer to the sailor.
Blueneck stared at him, fascinated, and the little man with the blanket sniffed audibly.
Black’erchief Dick’s eyes left Mat Turnby for a moment and rested on the shivering little creature. “Sniff thy way aft, Habakkuk Coot,” he said quietly. The little man stared at him, shivered, sniffed again, and seemed unable to move.
Slowly the Spaniard’s arm lifted the pistol in his hand.
Habakkuk sniffed again and his eyes dilated with terror; a white finger raised crooked round the trigger, and pressed. There was an explosion. Habakkuk remained standing for a second, then fled down the hatchway, a jagged hole through his blanket.
Black’erchief Dick smiled and, turning to Mat, continued: “As I said, Matthew Turnby, if this day thou hadst to die, which of these weapons wouldst thou choose? Thou seest I know the manner of either,” he added, and, suddenly darting out his hand, he plunged the knife between the big sailor’s arm and body, so that the sleeve of the man’s guernsey was skewered to the body of his coat. Still Mat Turnby neither moved nor spoke. Laughing slightly, the Spaniard drew out the knife and resumed the one-sided conversation.