“Ye think, because it was secret cargo, the owners of the gold won’t kick up a row when the Kut Sang is a minute overdue?  Ye think they’ll take yer yarns when they find ye went in the Kut Sang, as the whole Sailors’ Home knows?  They’ll stretch a rope for ye and Petrak—­if ye let Petrak along—­and the two of ye’ll drop together into the deepest hole ever ye clapped eyes on.”

“Of course, Mr. Thirkle could pack a ton of gold about, and it would be different, and not a word said,” sneered Buckrow.  “Perhaps ye know better than me what to do—­hey, Thirkle?”

“Thirkle has his plans made for the last of it as well as he had for the first of it, and don’t ye forget that, Mr. Buckrow, and never mind what they are.  You go on now and play the string out, and I wish the two of ye luck; but remember that Thirkle said ye’d hang, and hang ye will.  When they put the rope on yer necks and the black caps over yer heads, just remember Thirkle said it would come out that way.  They’ll make a nice job of ye.”

Petrak shivered and looked at Buckrow, who stood with arms folded, staring at the ground.

“Oh, stow that gab, Thirkle!” he said.  “Never ye fret about me and Reddy; ye’ll be dead, anyhow, and ye won’t mind.”

“Ye can thank Bucky for it,” went on Thirkle, craftily turning his conversation to Petrak, who was more easily influenced and had a hearty dread of death or prisons.

“Thank Bucky when ye start up the thirteen steps.  They’ll be the hardest thirteen steps ye ever took in yer life, Reddy—­and the last.  A man’s in a bad way when the shadow of the gallows falls across his bows and the priest begins to pray.  I looked for a better end for ye than that, Petrak; but go ahead and take his advice, and see where ye come to.”

“Don’t mind him, Reddy,” said Buckrow hoarsely.  “Pass the bottle and let the old devil croak.  You stick to Bucky.”

“Now, here’s where I stand,” went on Thirkle.  “It’s the last I’ll say on it, and I’ll give you two chaps another chance to save yerselves.  Take the ropes off me and I’ll bear no arms.  You two take the pistols, and I won’t have a knife.  That gives you two the upper hand, and ye can do as ye please, and I’ll take my share and orders, and see that I get ye away clear.

“Once we make it safe ye can go about yer business, and I’ll go about mine.  Come on, now, lads—­how’s that?  I ought to be worth that just to plan it out for ye and make sure ye get away.  Better a third and a long life than the whole and a rope afore ye spend a hundred pound of it, if ye get as much as a drink out of it alone.  How now, Bucky?”

“Real sweet of ye, old cock,” said Buckrow, lighting a cigar.  “A third and yer life looks better than none and a pile of bones.  Thirkle has a bit of a way to look to his own ends; what, Reddy?”

“Ye don’t stand to lose anything, do ye?  I’m not the man to squeal when I’m down; but we went into this thing together, the whole of us, with our eyes open, to split it even.  Here’s the three of us, and we’ll count it out right here by the piece or the sack.  Then ye leave it to me to get it away for ye, clean and neat.  I’m a gentleman, I am, and I can play a gentleman’s game, which ye two can’t.