A sound came from the half-breed behind the prisoner. It was a native expression of complete disgust. Peter only grinned more broadly.
“Ten minutes ago I was yearning to kill as badly as you,” McLagan went on calmly. “So maybe we’re fifty-fifty on that. Now I’m not. While I guess you’re still a hundred per cent that way. I’m going to turn you free to carry on your pretty work. I don’t feel like spoiling it by any premature action. You see, you’ll surely hang one day, and I’d rather it was done in the regular fashion of the law. You want my blood, and you haven’t left me guessing why. If you were a man, and not a brute, I’d say act the sportsman and take a chance with me. I’d face you just any old way at any old time. But you prefer the advantage to be with you all the time. That’s why I’m dead sure you’ll hang. Now you can get out the way——”
He broke off. A great spread of sunlight had flashed down on to the deck. Cy Liskard was no longer heeding him. With the sunshine a queer look had leapt into his usually expressionless eyes which were gazing down the deck. Their stare was horrified. And something like terror had replaced their deadness. He was staring at a moving shadow. The shadow that had once sent Sasa headlong over the vessel’s side and again had driven Claire Carver into panic.
The eyes of both Sasa and Peter Loby were held by it, too. Only McLagan seemed undisturbed by that shadowy presence. He was watching the prisoner, and his gun was still ready.
“You see it, Liskard?” McLagan said, with a derisive laugh. “We’ve all seen it. And you wanted to add another haunting to the collection. It’s a big man, eh? As big as I am. Say, we’d have made a real dandy pair of spooks, one on the deck and one in the lazaret—if you hadn’t burned up the whole darn shooting match. I wonder who murdered that poor devil like you’d have murdered me. We’ll never——”
A fierce oath broke from the prisoner. It was more a cry of real terror than any expression of fury against the man taunting him. The next moment he was speeding down the deck, running for the companion-ladder, while Peter’s gun was levelled at him.
“Quit it, Peter!”
McLagan’s order came on the instant and the man lowered his weapon.
“Let him go. I want him to go.” Then he turned to the half-breed. “Over the side with you, boy. You don’t like spooks, but you can be trusted with men. You’ve your gun. See to it that darn murdering swine don’t touch our boats. But don’t dare to kill him up.”