"I don't know anything about it," he lied. "I have been a common sailor on the ship, and have not been in the confidence——"
"Enough! Spin that yarn to the marines. I want the truth!" cried Carew. "Common sailor—not in their confidence—hey? And since when has Old Man Dabney permitted his foremast hands to live aft? How long since Ruth Le Moyne takes a heart interest in common sailors? Hey?"
He leaned forward in his chair, and shot the questions at Martin. His face was suddenly debased with evil passion, and bitter hatred was clearly revealed in his blazing eyes.
"Listen to me, my fine fellow!" he went on. "You fooled me once and spoiled my plans with your double dealing. But this time you'll throw no dust in my eyes! You'll not get by with any cock-and-bull yarn this time. I know just how warmly you feathered your nest—humoring that old blind fool and making love to his granddaughter. A pretty reward opened to you by your treachery that night in Frisco—a fortune and a sweetheart to boot! Hey, my winsome fancy man! A fine chance you've had for your billing and cooing; but now by Heaven, you'll pay the piper!"
Martin gasped before the wordy onslaught. But Carew's hot words, and his appearance, conveyed to Martin's alert mind a startling truth—it was not lust for treasure that inspired Wild Bob's verbal flogging, or venomous glances; it was jealousy, a wild, hate-filled jealousy of him, Martin Blake. Ruth was the core of Carew's rage.
"Come—where is that code?" went on Carew. "Speak up lively, now! By Heaven, if you sulk, I'll jolly well draw the truth out of you! Here, Ichi, call up that finger devil of yours and we'll see if a little gullet-twisting will loosen this cub's tongue! Here—Moto!"
The wooden-faced ju-jitsu man, who had been seated on the divan, got on his feet and moved toward Martin's chair. His face was absolutely expressionless, his attitude impersonal, but he was rubbing his hands together and stroking his fingers as if to make them supple for the work that lay before them.
Martin observed the maneuver with a suddenly contracted heart. He had a vivid recollection of the terrific pain that accompanied the former application of those writhing fingers to his person. He cautiously worked the handcuffs down upon his hands so that a quick movement would fling them off.
If he was to be put to torture, he would first fight! He eye-marked a carving-knife lying on the table within leaping reach.
But Ichi intervened and relieved the tension of the moment. He halted the businesslike bravo with a word.