But Boston concluded he had said almost enough for once. He rapped his pipe against the hatch-combing to dislodge the dottle, and got to his feet. I thought he was going to leave me without replying to my query, but after he had taken a step or two he spoke over his shoulder, softly.
"That's true what I said about the money, Jack. It's there, just waiting for a few lads of nerve to come and take it."
"If that talk gets aft, the Old Man will have you thumped into a jelly, just as an example to the other stiffs," I warned him.
He gave the devil's cackle that passed with him for a laugh, and stepping close to my side, spoke directly into my ear.
"Who is going to take the talk aft? Not you. Blackie and me know that Jack Shreve ain't a snitch. Not the Big 'Un. You can tell him what I said if you like. You can tell him something more. Blackie and me think there is a snitch in this gang, and the Big 'Un had better keep his eyes peeled for a double-cross. You tell him that. You tell him to ask Nigger about it."
"What do you mean?" I cried.
His answer was a mysterious shake of the head, and he disappeared into the foc'sle.
CHAPTER XIII
If Boston meant to give me something to think about, he succeeded. He left me worried. Not about the treasure or mutiny at which he hinted; for the time being I put this subject out of my mind. I was concerned over his unexplained warning. What did it mean? Did some new danger threaten my friend?
I went in search of Newman, to give him the warning. He was not in his bunk, so I stepped into the port foc'sle, expecting to find him by Nils' side. Nils was dying—we had been expecting him to go at almost any hour for a week past—and Newman had been spending a goodly share of his watches below by the lad's side.