The footsteps did not stop at the saloon door, however, but went on to the end of the alleyway. And, when Captain Dove at length looked out, one of the men there was still knocking violently at the door of Hobson's room. But he could obtain no answer.
"Better get a hatchet and handspikes, Cassidy," said Captain Dove, "and break the door in. Something must have gone wrong inside."
The panelling soon began to splinter under these drastic measures. A crash told that it had succumbed, and then the two listeners heard the key being turned in the lock.
They strained their ears to catch what the men were muttering to each other. One jumped clumsily back into the passage with a hoarse bark of alarm, and, over the shuffling of feet which ensued, could be heard the soft thud of quick, desperate blows on some substance which muffled them, until one fell on woodwork again and a murmur of eager congratulations succeeded it.
The man Cassidy came along to the saloon door, out of breath but exultant. "Mr. Hobson's stone-dead, sir," said he, extending his hatchet, on whose flat blade lay, black and limp, a long thin snake that looked like a slimy shoe-string. "Mr. Hobson's stone-dead—and that's what killed him. It all but got me too, while I was turning over the blankets."
"Bring it nearer the light," Captain Dove directed, and then bent over it, frowning, while Slyne, at his shoulder, stared at it as if fascinated.
"Huh!" Captain Dove at length commented. "Your luck was certainly in, Cassidy, when you managed to dodge that. It must have got on board while we were alongside the wharf at the Rio. But my luck's out, since I've lost another man—and the ship so short-handed too!
"You might see if you can find a bottle of grog for those lads, Mr. Slyne. And—Cassidy. Just rouse the carpenter out and tell him to tie a fire-bar or two to the body and slip it over the side. We can't keep a dead man on board till morning in weather like this."
Cassidy touched his forelock and went off, apparently quite content with the luck which had left him alive to enjoy his share of the bottle Slyne had handed him. Captain Dove shut the door behind him, and looked contemplatively round at Slyne. His own face was grey. The artificial animation derived from the alcohol he had imbibed was dying away. He looked very old and tired.
He slouched across to the speaking-tube and whistled up the engine-room, while Slyne sat watching him with sombre eyes.