“What do you make of it, Tom?” I asked, facing him in the dim halo of light.

“Well, sir,” scratching his head with his disengaged hand, “Thar ain’t but two more places ter look—­the cuss is either in the lazaret, er’ else hidin’ in the passage forward; more likely the last.”

“Why not the lazaret?”

“Cause thar wouldn’t be no object fer him to go thar.  He dudn’t get out agin with the kiver shut down.  The thing he’d most likely try fer wud be ter release them lads amidships—­that’d give him a gang o’ bullies ter fight with.  My idea is, sir, he thought he’d have time ter git the bulkhead door open, before anybody cum below—­he an’ the steward, who’d know what the tools wus.  That wus the scheme, only we busted in too quick.  That whar they both are—­skulkin’ back in them shadows.”

He fitted the smoking lantern back onto the shelf to have his hands free for action, and drew a cutlass out of the arm rack, running one leatherly thumb along the blade to test its sharpness.  His eyes sought mine questioningly.

“Probably your guess is the right one,” I said soberly.  “We’ll give it a trial, and should need no help to handle the two of them.”

The deck under our feet was fairly steady, the vessel having barely steerage-way, rolling slightly to the heave of the sea.  No sound readied us from above, and the silence of the cabin was profound.  Indeed the stillness irritated me with its mystery, rendered me reckless to penetrate its meaning.  Murder had been committed for a purpose—­it was the first step in an effort to retake the ship.  If we were to retain our advantage there was no time to be lost; we were pitted now against Silva Sanchez, and he was a leader not to be despised or temporized with; no cowardly, brainless fool.

The passage leading forward was wide enough to permit of our advancing together and for a few steps the light dribbled in past us, quite sufficient for guidance, although our shadows were somewhat confusing.  There were closed doors on either side, evidently locked, as they refused to yield to the hand.  I took these to be storerooms, possibly containing spoils of the voyage, but gave them little other thought, my whole interest centered on the intense blackness ahead.  I had been down this tunnel once before, and knew the bulkhead was not far away, but the few steps necessary plunged us into profound blackness, through which we advanced cautiously with outstretched hands.  No slightest sound warned of danger and I was already convinced in my own mind that the refugees were not hiding there, when it happened.  Within an instant we were fighting for our lives, fronted not by two men, but by a score, who flung themselves cursing upon us.  Their very numbers and the narrowness of the passage was our only salvation.  At first our resistance was blind enough, guided only by the senses of touch and sound.  We could see nothing of our antagonists, although their fierce rush hurled