Blythe laughed.
"Who is he?"
"Captain Boris Bothwell, sir."
"What!"
I told him and Mott the circumstances. The mate unbent a little.
"And the lubber shot at you? In your own cabin! Put him in irons and throw him ashore at Panama. That's my advice, Mr. Blythe. Get rid of him, and you'll not hear any more about this mutiny business."
"I'm of that opinion myself, Mr. Mott. We'll keep him under guard until he's in safe custody."
Blythe followed me down to my cabin, and for the first time he and Bothwell looked each other over.
"This isn't a passenger ship, sir," announced the owner of the Argos bluntly. "You've made a mistake, sir. We'll hand you over to the authorities at Panama."
Bothwell bowed.