He clumped out into the passage.
"Well, say!" burst out the young sailor named Hennessy. "I'm a tough guy,
but I couldn't have turned that trick. Hey, you! If you've got any hooch
in the coal bunkers, heave it over. I'm telling you! These soft-spoken
guys are the kind I lay off, believe you me! I've seen all kinds, and I
know."
"Did they kick you out of the Navy?" snarled Flint.
"Say, are you asking me to do it?" flared the Irishman. "You poor boob,
you'd be in the sick bay if there hadn't been a lady on board."
"A lady?"
"I said a lady! Stand up, you scut!"
But Flint rolled into his bunk and turned his face to the partition.
Cunningham leaned against the port rail. These bursts of fury always left
him depressed. He was not a fighting man at all and fate was always
flinging him into physical contests. He might have killed the fool: he had
been in a killing mood. He was tired. Somehow the punch was gone from the
affair, the thrill. Why should that be?
For years he had been planning something like this, and then to have it
taste like stale wine! Vaguely he knew that he had made a discovery. The
girl! If he were poring over his chart, his glance would drift away; if he
were reading, the printed page had a peculiar way of vanishing. Of course
it was all nonsense. But that night in Shanghai something had drawn him
irresistibly to young Cleigh's table. It might have been the colour of her
hair. At any rate, he hadn't noticed the beads until he had spoken to
young Cleigh.
Glass beads! Queer twist. A little trinket, worthless except for
sentimental reasons, throwing these lives together. Of course an oil would
have lured the elder Cleigh across the Pacific quite as successfully. The
old chap had been particularly keen for a sea voyage after having been
cooped up for four years. But in the event of baiting the trap with a
painting neither the girl nor the son would have been on board. And Flint
could have had his noggin without anybody disturbing him, even if the
contract read otherwise.
Law-abiding pirates! How the world would chuckle if the yarn ever reached
the newspapers! He had Cleigh in the hollow of his hand. In fancy he saw
Cleigh placing his grievance with the British Admiralty. He could imagine
the conversation, too.
"They returned the yacht in perfect condition?"
"Yes."