Lingard seemed staggered as though he had been hit in the chest.  “I was thinking of the brig,” he said, gently.

“Mrs. Travers would be on board,” retorted Carter.

“What! on board.  Ah yes; on board.  Where else?” stammered Lingard.

Carter looked at him in amazement.  “Fight!  You ask!” he said, slowly.  “You just try me.”

“I shall,” ejaculated Lingard.  He left the cabin calling out “serang!” A thin cracked voice was heard immediately answering, “Tuan!” and the door slammed to.

“You trust him, Mrs. Travers?” asked Carter, rapidly.

“You do not—­why?” she answered.

“I can’t make him out.  If he was another kind of man I would say he was drunk,” said Carter.  “Why is he here at all—­he, and this brig of his?  Excuse my boldness—­but have you promised him anything?”

“I—­I promised!” exclaimed Mrs. Travers in a bitter tone which silenced Carter for a moment.

“So much the better,” he said at last.  “Let him show what he can do first and . . .”

“Here!  Take this,” said Lingard, who re-entered the cabin fumbling about his neck.  Carter mechanically extended his hand.

“What’s this for?” he asked, looking at a small brass key attached to a thin chain.

“Powder magazine.  Trap door under the table.  The man who has this key commands the brig while I am away.  The serang understands.  You have her very life in your hand there.”

Carter looked at the small key lying in his half-open palm.

“I was just telling Mrs. Travers I didn’t trust you—­not altogether. . . .”

“I know all about it,” interrupted Lingard, contemptuously.  “You carry a blamed pistol in your pocket to blow my brains out—­don’t you?  What’s that to me?  I am thinking of the brig.  I think I know your sort.  You will do.”

“Well, perhaps I might,” mumbled Carter, modestly.

“Don’t be rash,” said Lingard, anxiously.  “If you’ve got to fight use your head as well as your hands.  If there’s a breeze fight under way.  If they should try to board in a calm, trust to the small arms to hold them off.  Keep your head and—­” He looked intensely into Carter’s eyes; his lips worked without a sound as though he had been suddenly struck dumb.  “Don’t think about me.  What’s that to you who I am?  Think of the ship,” he burst out.  “Don’t let her go!—­Don’t let her go!” The passion in his voice impressed his hearers who for a time preserved a profound silence.

“All right,” said Carter at last.  “I will stick to your brig as though she were my own; but I would like to see clear through all this.  Look here—­you are going off somewhere?  Alone, you said?”

“Yes.  Alone.”

“Very well.  Mind, then, that you don’t come back with a crowd of those brown friends of yours—­or by the Heavens above us I won’t let you come within hail of your own ship.  Am I to keep this key?”

“Captain Lingard,” said Mrs. Travers suddenly.  “Would it not be better to tell him everything?”