PART FIVE: My Sea Adventure
Chapter 26: Israel Hands
(continued)
Now, the coxswain's hesitation seemed to be unnatural,
and as for the notion of his preferring wine to brandy,
I entirely disbelieved it. The whole story was a
pretext. He wanted me to leave the deck--so much was
plain; but with what purpose I could in no way imagine.
His eyes never met mine; they kept wandering to and
fro, up and down, now with a look to the sky, now with
a flitting glance upon the dead O'Brien. All the time
he kept smiling and putting his tongue out in the most
guilty, embarrassed manner, so that a child could have
told that he was bent on some deception. I was prompt
with my answer, however, for I saw where my advantage
lay and that with a fellow so densely stupid I could
easily conceal my suspicions to the end.
"Some wine?" I said. "Far better. Will you have
white or red?"
"Well, I reckon it's about the blessed same to me,
shipmate," he replied; "so it's strong, and plenty of
it, what's the odds?"
"All right," I answered. "I'll bring you port, Mr.
Hands. But I'll have to dig for it."
With that I scuttled down the companion with all the
noise I could, slipped off my shoes, ran quietly along
the sparred gallery, mounted the forecastle ladder, and
popped my head out of the fore companion. I knew he
would not expect to see me there, yet I took every
precaution possible, and certainly the worst of my
suspicions proved too true.
He had risen from his position to his hands and knees,
and though his leg obviously hurt him pretty sharply
when he moved--for I could hear him stifle a groan--yet
it was at a good, rattling rate that he trailed himself
across the deck. In half a minute he had reached the
port scuppers and picked, out of a coil of rope, a long
knife, or rather a short dirk, discoloured to the hilt
with blood. He looked upon it for a moment, thrusting
forth his under jaw, tried the point upon his hand, and
then, hastily concealing it in the bosom of his jacket,
trundled back again into his old place against the bulwark.
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