"What's the matter? What's wrong?," he whispered from the outside.
"The mate—the mate of the Vulcan is in there!" gasped the American.
"Impossible!" Smith dived under the hood for himself.
Both heads just managed to squeeze in and the two men stared at Malone as if he were raised from the grave. The mate, however, was not funereal. He seemed in the pink of condition, rather fatter than he had been on the dock, and he wore the pleased expression of a man well content with life.
As men will do when under a fixed stare, he presently glanced about and his eyes fell on the porthole. He looked at the dim port for several seconds intently, as if he could not quite make out their faces. Madden frowned, jerked his head up and down in a signal for Malone to approach.
The mate's little eyes went round at the request. He made a surprised gesture to his partner, scrambled to his feet and drew near. The whole cabin followed his motions.
"W'ot is it?" he whispered, still peering into the half-faces seen in the round hole.
"Madden and Smith."
"W'ot!"
"Yes."