The man from the hills was standing in the cabin alleyway with his back to the main deck. He was facing the door of the steward’s pantry with a clear view of the open trap of the lazaret. But he, himself, was sufficiently clear of it to stand in no risk of gun-fire on the part of the man he had trapped there. His gun was ready in his hand. No man could hope to ascend the ladder of the lazaret and get the first shot in. He knew that. And, for the moment, was quite content. Now he was talking, and a curious light had replaced the deadness usually looking out of his eyes.
“I didn’t guess to find you here, McLagan,” he said. “I didn’t think to find this wreck lying around. But I’ve come many miles to find you, and pay the thing I owe you. I humped it into Beacon to buy a ‘time.’ I was out to buy it in a fashion you oil folks don’t guess about. I was there to pay for it in dollars an’ dollars, and all sorts of gold you never dreamt about; I wanted that dame, and you jumped in and smashed my face. It ain’t that smash I’m worrying about—though I owe you for that. But you cost me that dame an’ darn near a hangin’. That’s what I’m here to pay you for. An’ pay you good. I’m goin’ to kill you right here. Savvy? An’ I guess it’s a good place to get away with it right. They’ll find you lying around dead, an’ it’ll take all the United States lawyers to guess who did it. I don’t belong this location. I ain’t within miles of it. Ther’s no one who counts knows I’m around. I guess ther’ ain’t a soul to disturb us. You see, your folks are up the river, an’ you—I saw you come along over to this darn wreck. Do you feel like showing yourself, or will I seal up this hatch an’ fire the ship?”
The man spoke very deliberately. He spoke without passion. His manner was quietly confident and satisfied.
For a moment he contemplated the raised trap as though measuring his chances of carrying out his final threat. Not for a moment did he imagine his victim would be unarmed. He remembered the Speedway. McLagan had been armed then. He had reason enough to remember something of the calibre of the weapon the man had thrust at him.
His eyes turned again to the aperture in the deck. Did he know the construction of that narrow lazaret below? It seemed doubtful. And yet it was impossible to tell.
After awhile his voice came again harshly taunting.
“You ain’t makin’ a lot of fuss, McLagan,” he cried. “But then you ain’t got a crowd around. You’re on your own, and don’t feel sure about things. You ken come right up if you fancy, an’ I’ll give it you fair. I won’t send you glorywards till your face has had a peek around at the good daylight you’re goin’ to lose quick. If you ain’t game for that I’ll sure have to batten down, an’ start that fire. This vessel’s loaded down with an elegant cargo of good spruce an’ stuff. It’ll burn so ther’ ain’t a living soul could get near it. Then her bulkheads are steel, I guess. Gee! What a dandy oven that lazaret’ll make.”
Still no sound came up from below. Still the engineer gave no sign. And yet he must surely have realised the desperateness of his case.
Cy Liskard shifted his position. He was listening acutely. For all his taunting he was left guessing while his intended victim remained soundless. He was thinking very hard. He was puzzled. Suddenly he raised his gun and looked over its sight. And on the instant a shot rang out. But it came from the lazaret and not from his weapon. A bullet struck the alleyway wall with a spat. It ricochetted off the steel and tore screaming past the man’s head. Instantly Cy’s gun replied and a bullet crashed through one of the iron tanks below with a boom like a drum beat.