Sleep was impossible for the passengers, and during the earlier hours of the storm the howling of the wind, the creaking of the ship and her gear, the pounding of seamen's feet on the decks made conversation difficult too. After the worst had passed, however, Jeremy Stone tried for a short time to talk with Lord Murray in the adjoining bunk, but the nobleman was fighting seasickness, and anything more verbose than a monosyllabic grunt was an effort for him. At last he found refuge in sleep, though the sea continued to run heavily, and Jeremy was alone with his thoughts.
Bits of his strange interview with Caroline kept coming into his mind, but he was no closer to solving the riddle of her remarks than he had been when he had left her, and only with an effort could he force himself to drop the subject.
The air was close and almost unbearably hot, and Jeremy's rough, heavy linen sheet was wet with perspiration. Nevertheless, he tried to compose himself for sleep and was just beginning to grew drowsy when the cabin door opened and slammed shut, opened and slammed shut. Hoping that someone else would do something about it, he lay still. But the others seemed to be asleep, and he sat up, cursing under his breath. At that instant the door swung wider ajar and he saw a figure in the darkness outside. Leaping to his feet, he lurched to the door and peered into the gloom. Directly ahead was Dirk Friendly's unmistakable bulk. His right forefinger was held to his lips and he was beckoning violently with his free hand.
Silently Jeremy slipped into his breeches and shoes, moved into the passage, and shut the door behind him. He started to speak, but Dirk clamped a huge hand over his mouth, then half dragged him toward the far end of the areaway leading to the open deck. There both leaned against the bulkhead to help keep their balance, and Jeremy blinked indignantly.
"Dirk," he demanded, "what in blazes do you think "
"It's Tully," the big man said hoarsely. "They're a-aimin' t' kill him. Right now!"
"What are you talking about? Who is "
"Sir Ian 'n' them others. When the storm started t' let up a mite, Sir Ian come t' the fo'c'sle 'n' got them two bulgin'-muscle Scotsmen o' hisn off'n their pallets. I didn't like the looks o' things, so I follered 'em, 'n' I heard 'em a-talkin'. They was goin' t' let Tuily out o' irons 'n' then take him up t' the deck. I heard Sir Ian a-sayin' it'd be easy t' claim he fell overboard with this boat a-rockin' like it is."
Jeremy was annoyed; it was about three in the morning, and while he did not believe his friend to be a liar, he felt that Dirk's fears were an exaggeration. "It doesn't make sense to me. Dirk. Nobody is going to murder a man simply because he drank too much and made a few uncomplimentary remarks about the Duchess!"
"All I know is what I know. 'N' I ain't a-askin' ye t' take my word fer nothin', Jerry! Just come along outdoors—'n' shake a leg whilst ye're at it, or that Tully will be a-feedin' the sharks!"
Without waiting for a reply he pushed open the heavy door leading to the deck and stepped outside. Jeremy, at his heels, saw that the brig was moving along neatly. Although a landsman might have been alarmed at the ship's pitching, it was plain that the captain and his officers were in no wise concerned; ropes were securely in place and the seamen who had fought the storm had gone off to the fo'c'sle or to other duties, for the deck was deserted.
Dirk sprinted toward the bow, and Jeremy trotted after him. feeling angry and slightly foolish. Suddenly, however, Dirk darted behind a high pile of emergency tackles and ropes that were lashed to the deck. Jeremy joined him and crouched low. The deck ended some five yards ahead of them, and beyond the low rail, out of sight of the officer of the watch on the quarter-deck, several figures were huddled.
As Jeremy's eyes became more accustomed to the darkness, he saw that one of the figures remained apart from the others, and he recognized the man as Sir Ian. Dirk was straining to see, too, and he took hold of Jeremy's arm in sudden excitement.
"Look there!" he hissed. "Them two has got Tully b'twixt 'em 'n' they're a-trying' t' push him overboard—but he's fightin' back at 'em. Let's go!"
Before Jeremy could stop him, he stood erect and charged forward, whooping loudly. Jeremy had no choice but to follow, and as he drew closer he saw why the struggle was such a silent one: the intended victim was indeed Tully, and a heavy gag had been stuffed into his mouth. Dirk lunged at the would-be assassins, and so unexpected was his assault that one of them dropped to the deck under the impact of his flailing fists. The other fought back, and he and Dirk pounded each other unmercifully.
Sir Ian drew his sword and was about to cut down Dirk when he saw Jeremy. At that instant the ship lurched and the momentarily forgotten Tully, who had been standing groggily, weaving from side to side, fell to the deck with a thud and began to slide toward the edge of the planking and the open sea beyond it. And no one was making any move to prevent his death. Jeremy, who had almost lost his balance when the brig had plunged so abruptly into a trough, leaped forward and made a diving tackle. His arms circled Tully securely, and he hauled the man back to safety.
The gag in Tully's mouth prevented him from speaking, but his face was close to Jeremy's, and his eyes were shining with silent gratitude. Jeremy was about to say something to him when he felt the touch of cold steel on his chest and found himself staring at the tip of Sir Ian MacGregor's sword. The blade moved away again, and Jeremy pulled himself to his feet. The Scotsman was standing directly in front of him, smiling mirthlessly.
"That was very brave of you. I congratulate you. You are a hero." Sir Ian spoke in short, jerky passages, as though the words were being ripped out of him with great effort.
Wildly angry, Jeremy forgot caution. "You would have murdered this man!" he shouted. "You and these—these scum of yours would have thrown him overboard!"
"Nonsense." Sir Ian was in complete control of himself now and spoke with icy precision. "Tully here has been in the hold. He was forgotten during the storm and was brought up to the deck in the hope that a little fresh air would revive him. And when he fell, you were a trifle quicker than I in reaching him, that's all. I'm afraid you have a penchant for the melodramatic."
"That's a lie! You would have "
Again the sword flicked out, and the point, touching Jeremy's chest, drew blood. The sudden realization that he was helpless sobered the young gunsmith and he fell silent. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Dirk had gained the upper hand with the retainer who was still on his feet. The big American's fists were pounding methodically into the other's face and body, and it was a testimony of sorts to the man's stamina that he could take such punishment. The hard, heavy fists lashed out again and again; then abruptly Sir Ian took command.
"That will do!" he said curtly, and the sword whipped out in the direction of the two fighters. Dirk was unaware of him, however, and Jeremy was afraid that the Scotsman would run his friend through for disobeying. "Stop, Dirk! That's enough!" He had to repeat the order twice before the big man lowered his arms.
"Thank you," Sir Ian said ironically, then addressed himself to the others. "McDermid, get up off the deck. You're not hurt, but you'll suffer more than you've dreamed if you stay down there cowering, afraid of this bully's fists. Watson, wipe the blood off your face, then you and McDermid take Tully back to the brig. Do as you're told—now!" he said as no one moved.
The man who had been sprawled on the deck rose slowly, then picked up the bound and gagged Tully by the feet. Watson, still bleeding, lifted the prisoner's shoulders, and they started off down the deck. Sir Ian turned to Dirk.
"Go back to the fo'c'sle, or you'll receive the same treatment Tully is getting. Go—at once."