"It is-as you'll discover whin you're able to come on deck an' give me
the satisfaction I'll demand for the dirrty dab av wather an' cotton
waste you put in the tube, knowin' that the firrst time I took it down
to spheak to you, ye blackguard, in the line av djooty--which is the
only reason I would spheak to you--I'd get it full in the mouth. Ye
dirrty, lyin', schamin', dhrunken murrderer!"

He paused to let that stream of adjectival opprobrium sink in.
Silence. Then:

"I poured the contents of my washbasin in the tube, I'll admit, but I
did not plug it with cotton waste. One of your assistants did that,
chief, and as for the water, as God is my judge, I didn't intend it
for you--"

"Who else would ye be afther insultin' if it wasn't me? Are ye not
friendly wit' me assistants?"

"Forgive me, Reardon, and listen to what I'm going to tell you."

And then the tale was told. When it was done Terence Reardon grunted.

"I knew it!" he said. "I knew it! I felt in me bones there was
something wrong aboard this ship. An' so ye were not dhrunk an'
disordherly at Pernambuco?"

"The liars! Did they tell you that? Reardon, it's only the mercy of
heaven they didn't murder me. I'm lying here, helpless and crippled in
my state-room, with the key turned in the lock. They've stolen my ship
from me, and I can tell by the roll of her she's practically hove to