"It's all right for the present, Florrie," he said. "While Sampson is sober they won't come aft again."
"Oh, Billie," she gasped. "I hope so. Don't desert me, Billie."
"Don't worry," he said, reassuringly. "They'll all be stupid before long, and then—to-night—there will be something doing on our side. Now, I must be in my room when Billings comes, or until I'm sure he will not come. And you stay here. I'll be on hand if anything happens."
He went back to his room, but Billings did not come with his supper. And one by one the voices above grew silent, and the shuffling footsteps ended in thuds, as their owners dropped to the deck; and when darkness had closed down and all above was still, Denman crept out to reconnoiter. He reached the door leading to the captain's room, and was just about to open it when a scream came to his ears.
"Billie! Billie—come—come quick! Help!"
Then a tense voice:
"Shut up your noise in there and open the door. I only want to have a talk with you."
Denman was into the room before the voice had ceased, and in the darkness barely made out the figure of a man fumbling at the knob of the stateroom door. He knew, as much by intuition as by recognition of the voice, that it was Forsythe, and, without a word of warning, sprang at his throat.
With an oath Forsythe gripped him, and they swayed back and forth in the small cabin, locked together in an embrace that strained muscles and sinews to the utmost. Forsythe expended breath and energy in curses.
Denman said nothing until Florrie screamed again, then he found voice to call out: