I could peek into only a narrow section of the saloon, for I did not dare shove my face into the opening.  They would have seen me.  But I could hear every voice, every word, and my ears gave me an accurate picture of the scene below.

The first voice I heard was the voice of one of my foc’sle mates, and he was giving testimony against Newman.

“‘E was in the syl-locker mykin’ hup to ‘er,” the speaker said, “an’ tellin’ as ’ow ’e’d lead the crew arft, and kill the hofficers, and tyke charge ’imself.  That’s wot ‘e says, s’ ’elp me!”

“Ah, yes, he was making up to her, eh?  And plotting mutiny?  And my wife lent herself to such a scheme, did she?” This came in Swope’s voice, soft, purring, the very tone an insult.  “So my wife was in the sail-locker with this convict, and he was making up to her?  Well, well!”

“You know that creature is lying, Angus!” broke in another voice.  Aye, and I very nearly gave myself away by craning my head to see the speaker.  For this was the lady’s voice, hot with anger and resentment and loathing.  “You know very well why I met Roy in the sail-locker; you know very well we were planning to avoid bloodshed, not cause it.”

“What are you doing here?” exclaimed the captain, with a savage edge to his words.  “This is a man’s business, madam!  Return to your room at once.  Mister Fitzgibbon, take her to her room!”

There was the sound of movement below.  A chair scraped.  Then Lynch’s voice rang out sharply, “Stop that, Fitz!” The lady’s voice said, “You need not touch me, I am going.”  A second later she spoke again, from a different point, and I judged her to be in the doorway of her stateroom.  “You, at least, Mister Lynch, will bear witness that I deny these charges against myself and against—­against him.  They are lies.  This spy is lying, my husband is lying.  I know the truth.  Do you hear me, Angus?  I know the truth, and you cannot silence me with lies!” A door closed.

“Now we will continue our examination,” said Captain Swope.

Just then I heard a faint slatting of canvas aloft.  I sped for the wheel, and when, an instant later, the tradesman, Morton, poked his head above the level of the poop, and looked aft, I had the ship steady again.  Morton’s head disappeared, and after waiting a few moments to make sure he did not intend coming up on the poop, I returned to the skylight.

My precious shipmate was talking again.  “Hi ’eard ’im sy in the Knitting Swede’s ’ow ’e was shipping in this ship just to ryse ’ell.”

“He said that, did he?” commented Captain Swope.  “Now what have you to say to that, Newman?”

For the first time I heard my friend’s voice.  His words were cool, contemptuous.  Aye, they heartened me; they told me he was far from being defeated.

“The rat lies, of course, as all of you know.”

“And you say that Newman has persistently endeavored to stir up the crew to acts of disobedience and violence?” continued the captain.