“And no one came from the after house?”
“No one.”
Eight bells rang out sharply. The watch changed. I took the revolver and Burns’s position at the companionway, while Burns went aft. He lined up the men by the binnacle light, and went over them carefully. The marlinespike was not found; but he took from the cook a long meat-knife, and brought both negro and knife forward to me. The man was almost collapsing with terror. He maintained that he had taken the knife for self-protection, and we let him go with a warning.
Dawn brought me an hour’s sleep, the first since my awakening in the storeroom. When I roused, Jones at the wheel had thrown an extra blanket over me, for the morning was cool and a fine rain was falling.
The men were scattered around in attitudes of dejection, one or two of them leaning over the rail, watching the jolly-boat, riding easily behind us. Jones heard me moving, and turned.
“Your friend below must be pretty bad, sir,” he said. “Your lady-love has been asking for you. I wouldn’t let them wake you.”
“My—what?”
He waxed apologetic at once.
“That’s just my foolishness, Leslie,” he said. “No disrespect to the lady, I’m sure. If it ain’t so, it ain’t, and no harm done. If it is so, why, you needn’t be ashamed, boy. ‘The way of a man with a maid,’ says the Book.”
“You should have called me, Jones,” I said sharply. “And no nonsense of that sort with the men.”