“But you’re under me,” roared the captain. “By God, I’m master here!”
“Well, I’m not disputing that,” said the purser mildly. “This fellow Balch––”
“We’re in no mood for argument,” Dr. Frank cut in. “Clouding the issue.”
“I won’t let it be clouded,” the captain exclaimed. I had never seen Carter so choleric. He was evidently under a tremendous strain. He added,
“Johnson, you’ve been acting suspiciously. I don’t give a damn whether I’ve proof of it or not––I say it. Did you, or did you not meet George Prince and that Martian last night?”
“No, I did not. And I don’t mind telling you, Captain Carter, that your tone also is offensive!”
“Is it?” Carter suddenly seized him. They were both big men. Johnson’s heavy face went purplish red.
“Take your hands!––” They were struggling. Carter’s hands were fumbling at the purser’s pockets. I leaped, flung an arm around Johnson’s neck, pinning him.
“Easy there! We’ve got you, Johnson!”