'We hold a warrant'—I began.
'Oh, it is you, is it?' he screeched, like a hyena, or something of that sort. 'I owe you a little for a past score, and you shall have it.' As quick as lightning he pulled a long straight knife from the side of his trousers, where it must have been in some sort of sheath, and jumped at me with such suddenness that he would have stabbed me, only Barney Wilkins snatched a handspike from the deck, and dashing between us, hit him down with such a blow, that the skipper fell with a crash like a bullock when it is killed, the blood pouring from his head instantly.
It was all as quick as thought. The other men were all seized in a breath. So quick was it all done, that I had no idea Barney was hurt, until he reeled, made a wild clutch as if he caught at something for support, and then pitched forward on his hands and knees.
'Hollo, Barney!' I said, stooping down to him. 'What's the matter, old fellow?'
'It's all up, Mr Nickham,' he gasped; 'he's done me. I only hope I've killed him. Where's the other?'
'Oh, never mind the other, Barney,' I says. 'Where are you hurt?'
But as I spoke, one of the men came with a lantern, and Barney had no occasion to answer me, for I could see a straight stream of blood running from his chest on to the deck; and his hands giving way from weakness, he fell over on his side.
'Pull in for the shore, you, sir!' said the sergeant of the Thames police to my waterman. 'You know Marigold Street? Knock up Mr Gartley, and tell him what has happened. Say we are afraid to move the man to his house, so he had better come aboard.'
'Send one of your own men, will you?' answers the boatman. 'I've got something to tell the governor' (that was me), 'as I think he ought to know.'
'Cut away then, Bill,' says the sergeant to a constable; 'these fellows are ironed, and we can manage all that are aboard this craft.'