“He came in a hurry, all a-flutter like an old hen.  Just as I knew he would come.  And as he leaned over you, in your own cabin, I—­er—­separated him from his temporal worries with an iron belaying pin from your own rail.  Then I gave you the clout for luck (it has left a fine scar, I note) and placed the pin on the table.  And thus your chief mate discovered you when he came on board, you and your victim, and the weapon you used, just as I planned.  And your steward’s testimony, and my reluctant admissions, finished you.  You see, Roy—­neatness and thoroughness!

“I took Stord to sea with me, as my steward.  But, unfortunately, he went over the side one dark night, off the Horn.  A loose end tucked in, eh, Roy?

“And I’ll tuck in other loose ends between now and dawn—­you, for instance, and our brave Mister Lynch.  I have it already written down for Fitz to copy into the logbook.  ’During the fighting, James Lynch, second mate, was stabbed by one of the mutineers; but owing to the darkness and confusion his assailant was not recognized.’  That’s how the log will read when we bowse into port.  And—­’During the fighting, the sailor, Newman, attempted to escape from custody, and was shot by the captain.’  You see, Roy, everything shipshape!  A line for each in the log—­and two loose ends tucked in—­eliminated!

“You will have some time in which to think it over, before it happens, Roy.  You should thank me for that—­for giving you something to think about.  It will take your mind off your pain, eh?  Yes, you need something to think about, for you’ll hang there for four or five hours yet.  No danger of your sleeping, eh, Roy?  Well, keep your ears open and you’ll be forewarned.  There’ll be some shooting on deck.  I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to bring it about; your shipmates are a gutless crew, Roy, and I had begun to think I could not get a fight out of them.  But the swabs are coming aft at the end of the mid-watch.  Eight bells in the mid-watch—­count the bells, Roy.  Eight bells—­elimination!

“Then there will be just one loose end left—­and you know what I have planned for her!  Think about it, Roy—­think about our darling little Mary!  At the mercy of the wolves, Roy!  At the mercy of our dear, gentle Fitzgibbon!  At the mercy—­yes, I do believe at the mercy, also, of my new second mate.

“Oh, yes, he is already nominated for the office.  Of course, he must first remove the incumbent—­but that, as I explained, is arranged for.  He is a greasy cockney, gutter-snipe—­but useful.  I wouldn’t think of having him at table with me, Roy—­but I think I’ll let him amuse himself with Mary—­after Fitz!  Ah, that stings, eh, Roy!”

It did, indeed.  Newman lifted the face of a madman to his torturer.  Aye, the creature’s vile words, and viler threat, had stung him beyond his power of self-control.  All the pent-up fury in his soul burst forth in one explosive oath.