It was a bitter, heartbroken cry, a wail of anguish, and it struck Ben like a knife, it seemed to cut through him. As Hector's cry ceased he fell forward into Ben's arms. Like a flood the incidents of the past few days rushed into Ben's mind. The boom of the gun, the escape of the convict, Brack's story, the strangling of the bloodhound, the man on the road to Torwood.
"Great heaven, it's Hector!" said Ben. "Poor fellow! My God, what a wreck!"
Then his thoughts flew to Picton. It would never do to let him know to-night; he must be prepared for the shock. Where to conceal Hector? For the present, at any rate, he would put him in his cabin. The hands on board—could they be trusted? Some story would have to be concocted. There was a man near and Ben called him.
"Help me to carry him into my cabin," said Ben.
The sailor obeyed without a word. He was an elderly man; he had served with Captain Bruce on the Tiger.
"Say nothing of this until I give you permission," said Ben.
"Right, sir," said Abe Glovey.
"Abe, you are much attached to Woodridge and myself?"
"I am, sir."
"Can you persuade every man on board to keep this man's presence here a secret? It's very important."