"In the what?"
"I refer to the fish-house, which was consumed in the conflagration of ten days ago. After you had knocked me down by hurling a stone at me in the basest and most unchivalrous manner, on my recovery from the effects of the blow, I went to the fish-house to sleep, being too late to return on board. I was in the loft when you and the other person were below. The floor broke, and I had the misfortune to be precipitated upon you and your companion in infamy. You ran away; but I found the gold, and brought it on board. This is my theory, Captain Dock Vincent."
"This is all a lie!" gasped Dock, putting his hand into his side pocket.
"On the contrary, it is all the sacred truth."
"See here, steward; you can't fool me. I want that money."
"Allow me to inform you that you cannot have it. In due time it shall be restored to the rightful owner."
"I can and will have it," said Dock, fiercely, as he took a revolver from his pocket, and pointed it at the head of the steward.
"I think not," replied Mr. Ebénier, producing his revolver; and, straightening out his legs under the table, he threw himself into an attitude as impudent as the human form could assume, while upon his face played an expression of smiling assurance, which took the ruffian all aback.
Dock's hand trembled, and the pistol vibrated in his grasp, as he looked in dismay at the steward's weapon, all capped and cocked, as his own was not—a circumstance which probably helped Mr. Ebénier in keeping so cool and self-possessed.
"Why don't you fire, Captain Dock Vincent?" taunted the steward. "If you move you are a dead man!"