'There's no saying what you would do, Captain,' replied Carter; 'it isn't twenty-four hours since you wanted to shoot me.'
'I only said I would, rather than let you go raising trouble for me,' explained Lingard.
'One night isn't like another,' mumbled Carter, 'but how am I to know? It seems to me you are making trouble for yourself as fast as you can.'
'Well, supposing I am,' said Lingard with sudden gloominess. 'Would your men fight if I armed them properly?'
'What—for you or for themselves?' asked Carter.
'For the woman,' burst out Lingard. 'You forget there's a woman on board. I don't care
Carter pondered conscientiously.
'Not to-night,' he said at last. 'There's one or two good men amongst them, but the rest are struck all of a heap. Not to-night. Give them time to get steady a bit if you want them to fight.'
He gave facts and opinions with a mixture of loyalty and mistrust. His own state puzzled him exceedingly. He couldn't make out anything, he did not know what to believe and yet he had an impulsive desire, an inspired desire to help the man. At times it appeared a necessity—at others policy; between whiles a great folly, which perhaps did not matter because he suspected himself of being helpless anyway. Then he had moments of anger. In those moments he would feel in his pocket the butt of a loaded pistol. He had provided himself with the weapon, when directed by Mrs. Travers to go on board the brig.
'If he wants to interfere with me, I'll let drive at him and take my chance of getting away,' he had explained hurriedly.
He remembered how startled Mrs. Travers looked. Of course, a woman like that—not used to hear such talk. Therefore it was no use listening to her, except for good manners' sake. Once bit twice shy. He had no mind to be kidnapped, not he, nor bullied either.
'I can't let him nab me, too. You will want me now, Mrs. Travers,' he had said; 'and I promise you not to fire off the old thing unless he jolly well forces me to.'
He was youthfully wise in his resolution not to give way to her entreaties, though her extraordinary agitation did stagger him for a moment. When the boat was already on its way to the brig, he remembered her calling out after him:
'You must not! You don't understand.'
Her voice coming faintly in the darkness moved him, it resembled so much a cry of distress.
'Give way, boys, give way,' he urged his men.
He was wise, resolute, and he was also youthful enough to almost wish it should 'come to it.' And with foresight he even instructed the boat's crew to keep the gig just abaft the main rigging of the brig.
'When you see me drop into her all of a sudden, shove off and pull for dear life.'
Somehow just then he was not so anxious for a shot, but he held on with a determined mental grasp to his fine resolution, lest it should slip away from him and perish in a sea of doubts.
'Hadn't I better get back to the yacht?' he asked, gently.
Getting no answer he went on with deliberation:
'Mrs. Travers ordered me to say that no matter how this came about she is ready to trust you. She is waiting for some kind of answer, I suppose.'
'Ready to trust me,' repeated Lingard. His eyes lit up fiercely.
Every sway of flares tossed slightly to and fro the massy shadows of the main deck, where here and there the figure of a man could be seen standing very still with a dusky face and glittering eyeballs.
Carter stole his hand warily into his breast pocket:
'Well, Captain,' he said. He was not going to be bullied, let the owner's wife trust whom she liked.
'Have you got anything in writing for me there?' asked Lingard, advancing a pace, exultingly.
Carter, alert, stepped back to keep his distance. Shaw stared from the side; his rubicund cheeks quivered, his round eyes seemed starting out of his head, and his mouth was open as though he had been ready to choke with pent-up curiosity, amazement, and indignation.
'No! Not in writing,' said Carter, steadily and low.
Lingard had the air of being awakened by a shout. A heavy and darkening frown seemed to fall out of the night upon his forehead and swiftly passed into the night again, and when it departed it left him so calm, his glance so lucid, his mien so composed that it was difficult to believe the man's heart had undergone within the last second the trial of humiliation and of danger. He smiled sadly:
'Well, young man,' he asked with a kind of good-humoured resignation, 'what is it you have there? A knife or a pistol?'
'A pistol,' said Carter. 'Are you surprised, Captain?' He spoke with heat because a sense of regret was stealing slowly within him, as stealthily, as irresistibly as the flowing tide. 'Who began these tricks?' He withdrew his hand, empty, and raised his voice. 'You are up to something I can't make out. You—you are not straight.'
The flares held on high streamed right up without swaying, and in that instant of profound calm the shadows on the brig's deck became as still as the men.
'You think not?' said Lingard, thoughtfully.
Carter nodded. He resented the turn of the incident and the growing impulse to surrender to that man.
