Rorke’s animosity lighted up afresh. “Am I going to be pals with the man that tried to swear away my life?” he said sternly; and after a pause he added: “That wants thinking about, that does; and meantime I must go and look at the engine.”
When Rorke had gone the new hand sat, with the two pipes in his hands, reflecting deeply. Abstractedly he stuck the fresh pipe into his mouth, and, dropping the stopped one into the rack, felt for a match. Still with an air of abstraction he lit the pipe, and having smoked for a minute or two, rose from the chair and began softly to creep across the room, looking about him and listening intently. At the door he paused to look out into the fog, and then, having again listened attentively, he stepped on tip-toe out onto the gallery and along towards the stairway. Of a sudden the voice of Rorke brought him up with a start.
“Hallo, Todd! where are you off to?”
“I’m just going down to make the boat secure,” was the reply.
“Never you mind about the boat,” said Rorke. “I’ll see to her.”
“Right-o, Jeff,” said Todd, still edging towards the stairway. “But, I say, mate, where’s the other man—the man that I’m to relieve?”
“There ain’t any other man,” replied Rorke; “he went off aboard a collier.”
Todd’s face suddenly became grey and haggard. “Then there’s no one here but us two!” he gasped; and then, with an effort to conceal his fear, he asked: “But who’s going to take the boat back?”
“We’ll see about that presently,” replied Rorke; “you get along in and unpack your chest.”
He came out on the gallery as he spoke, with a lowering frown on his face. Todd cast a terrified glance at him, and then turned and ran for his life towards the stairway.