“Why don’t you send the two ladies ashore also, Miss Mallory?  There is an extra boat—­also an extra Chinese——­”

“You won’t do that, dear?” The Glow-worm turned back to her with a horrified look.  Her tone was not to be forgotten.

“No, Senora,” Miss Mallory answered.  “It is well to have at least one small boat.”

“Excellent wisdom, I am sure,” said Rey, as his eyes settled upon the Glow-worm.

She drained a glass of wine, and sank into a chair in a still huddled fashion.  There was something unnatural in the fixed inclination of her head.  She had betrayed herself, and watched Rey now out of the corners of her eyes—­and in dissolving fear—­quivering under his stare and voice.  Madame Sorenson was sitting near, dazed from sensational expenditure, her lips moving without sound.  There was something hideous in the tension, and in the whole cabin arrangement.  Framtree had taken a seat across the aft doorway.  He could turn from the woman at the wheel to the light with a movement of his head.  He appeared to be much mixed in mind and resigned to await developments.  Bedient stood silently watching these changes of position.  Miss Mallory felt she must scream before many minutes.  She wanted Bedient to know all the fears that distressed her, but dared not speak lest she betray the weakness of their position as she saw it.  Once she thought Framtree was laughing at her.

“What a pleasant little party!” Rey remarked at length.  “Too bad you can’t join us, Miss Mallory.”  And now he turned to Bedient with a scornful laugh:  “Why don’t you use your men in the forecastle to man the ship, and relieve the lady at the wheel?”

“They are off watch, Senor,” Bedient said, smiling.

“How tired they are!  How silently they rest!” the Spaniard replied softly, and his long hands caressed each other.

Framtree glanced from Bedient to Miss Mallory, who realized with added dread that the forecastle bubble was pricked.  She wondered how he had conveyed the impression that others were behind.

“Better let me help you with the wheel, Miss Mallory,” Framtree said, decently enough.

“No.”

“Shall I get you a glass of wine?”

“No.”

Rey seemed to have caught a sudden hope.  At least, Miss Mallory imagined so; and that he tried to cover it with words.

“Mr. Bedient,” he said pleasantly, “I do not wish to under-rate your genius in the least, but I should like to pay a compliment to your remarkable fellow-worker.”

“I have several to pay, as well, Senor.”

“I should be glad for her to hear,” Rey added.

“If you mean me,” Miss Mallory called, “I am listening intently.”

The Spaniard leaned forward, appearing to cover his eyes with his fingers.  Miss Mallory could hardly restrain a scream for Bedient to look out for the pistol, but nothing happened.  Senor Rey sat back and began reminiscently: