“The mate is coming aboard,” I said swiftly.  “You must go to your room; here is the key; lock yourself in, and only open when you hear my voice.”

“And you—?”

“I must take care of myself; don’t worry about me.”

She hesitated, yet the expression of my face decided her, and she held out her hand.

“I—­I said I would do whatever you told me to, and here I am questioning the first thing.  Forgive me.”

Without so much as a glance at our prisoner, she opened the door, and, with a swift look about the outer cabin, disappeared.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE CREOLE’S STORY

My time of preparation was brief, yet I already had a plan of operation outlined.  In truth, there was small choice left me.  I must keep Henley concealed and silent until darkness rendered our escape possible.  In order to accomplish this it would be necessary to prevent either the steward or the mate from entering the after cabin.  All peril from the negro I dismissed quickly, confident that his knowledge of my standing on board would impel him to accept any explanation I might make.  But with Herman the situation was not so clear.  Whether, or not, the Captain had informed him that I was a volunteer on their lawless expedition, I did not know.  We had not met since coming aboard, and, unless he had received direct orders regarding my status, any interference on my part would be apt to arouse instant suspicion.  Nor was he the kind to brook any assumed authority.  I had him placed as a gruff, hard-fisted sea-dog, who would strike first, and investigate later—­one in dealing with whom either diplomacy or force might prove equal failures.  Yet I possessed this advantage—­I could deal with him alone.  With but two watch officers on board, only one at a time could leave the deck, and Broussard, I felt assured, had no privileges in the Captain’s cabin.  From what I knew of Henley I doubted if even the first officer felt privileged to invade the privacy of his chief without some special reason.  There was discipline on board, strict discipline; there had to be to control such a crew, and it was my impression Henley was the very kind to insist on every privilege of his station.  Herman was of value merely for his ability as navigator; socially, the Captain and he had nothing in common.  It was on this theory I decided to work.

As I lifted the helpless Captain into his berth, his eyes glaring at me in impotent rage, my ears could distinguish the sound of oars as the small boat rounded the stern of the Sea Gull.  Much as I despised the fellow, I hated to gag him, yet our safety depended on his silence, and I dare not neglect the precaution.  Even as the boat grated along the side, I stepped forth into the main cabin, and sat down to wait.  To my surprise and relief, it was Broussard who came down the companion stairs, driving the steward before him.