"Water?" said Michaelson vaguely. He had paid no attention to the argument. When he heard his name mentioned, he looked up and smiled. "Water? Oh, yes, I believe I would like some." He came aft and Craig held the tin cup under the faucet in the keg. The water rilled out very slowly. Craig stared at it in perplexity. The stream dried to a trickle, then stopped running.
Horror tightened a band around his heart. He lifted the keg, shook it, then set it down.
Michaelson gazed at the few drops of water in the cup. "What is the matter?" he asked. "Is this all I get?"
"The keg is almost empty!" Craig choked out the words.
"Empty?" Michaelson said dazedly. "But yesterday you said it was a quarter full!"
"That was yesterday," Craig said. "Today there isn't over two cups of water left in the keg."
Silence settled over the boat as he spoke. He was aware that four sets of eyes were gazing steadily at him. He picked up the keg, examined it to see if it were leaking. It wasn't. When he set it down, the eyes were still staring at him. There was accusation in them now.
"You were the self-appointed guardian of the water supply," Voronoff spat out the words.
Craig didn't answer.
"Last night, when we were asleep, did you help yourself to the water?" Voronoff demanded.