The night was no less obscure now that dawn was near, but he could have found his way about the ship blind, and Slyne crept closely after him, not knowing what to expect, since Reuben Yoxall lay safely locked in one of the rooms below.
Captain Dove stopped behind the canvas shaft of one of the wind-sails which had been spread to catch the scant breeze and relieve a little the atmosphere of the mid-ship cabins. Its base was made fast about the hood of an ordinary deck ventilator.
"Cast it loose for a minute and listen," he whispered to his companion, and Slyne obeyed.
He listened there for a time, and then turned to whisper excitedly to Captain Dove.
"There's something wrong with him," he said. "He's raving. He's down with fever, as sure's I live."
"Let me hear," the old man commanded, and was very soon satisfied.
"Hell!" he ejaculated. "Now, isn't that the limit! There's surely some hoodoo on board this ship.
"Tie it up again, Slyne. We needn't waste powder and shot on him. He's booked out, express, on a free pass—and a damned good riddance, too!"
Slyne was not slow in re-fastening the canvas to the ventilator again. But even then Captain Dove was not done with him.
"Hobson's in the next cabin," the old man remarked, "and we may as well give him his ticket now as later on. We can't afford to let him bolt ashore whenever we make port—and blow the gaff on us both, Slyne!"