"Whisht!" said Harrigan, and his face was black. "Have you the right to doubt me?"
She answered sadly: "I have, Dan."
The Irishman turned slowly away and started up for the bridge without answer. As he went, he groaned beneath his breath: "Ochone! Ochone! She's heard!"
He could not dream how she knew of the mutiny, but if it was carried through, he was damned in her eyes forever. What she guessed McTee must know. What McTee knew must be familiar to White Henshaw, yet Henshaw could not know, for if he did, the ring-leaders would be instantly clapped into irons. Once or twice he looked down from his work to Kate and McTee. They still leaned at the rail, talking seriously.
And McTee was saying: "I have learned what I want to know. Every detail of the plot is in my hands. Now I am going to the cabin of White Henshaw and tell him everything. It's the simplest way. And you've started a suspicion in the mind of Harrigan. He'll spread the word to the rest of the mutineers, and they'll be on their watch against us."
She made a little gesture of appeal. "I couldn't help speaking to him, Angus. Suspecting him of such a thing is like—is like suspecting myself!"
"Let it go. It's done. Now I'm going up to see White Henshaw. The old man will be crazy when he hears it."
He found the captain giving some orders to Salvain, and waited until they were alone. Then he said: "There are about ten of us against the rest of the crew of the ship. Can we hold them in case of a mutiny?"
He had planned this laconic statement carefully, expecting to see
Henshaw turn pale and stammer in terror. Instead, the captain regarded
McTee with quietly contemplative eyes.
"So," he murmured, "you've heard of the mutiny?"