Late at night, when all was quiet, Hastings crept out of his berth. For a time he could hear only the straining of ropes, the creaking of blocks, and the whisper of the sea. Then he heard the sound of some one sobbing. Then the sound changed to that low laugh.
That laugh! He had half expected, half feared, to hear it. He felt within himself the sharp palpitation stimulated by quick, intense emotion, that for want of a better name we call leaping of the heart. With a quick motion he started forward in the darkness, but his feet struck something soft. It was the little cabin boy, asleep on a folded blanket. Uttering a cry, the lad scrambled to his feet and fled up the companionway.
For a moment there was silence, heavy and suspicious, then, out of the dark, came Widmer’s calm challenge. “What does this mean?”
Again silence ensued. The slow opening of a shutter, through which a few rays of light had been struggling feebly, suffused the scene with a dim, yellow glow. Hastings, his knees slightly bent, his hands raised as for attack or defense, his lips parted, was confronted by Amos Widmer, who stood with folded arms, smiling softly.
“What does this mean?” he repeated, in the same low, calm voice.
Taken at an overwhelming disadvantage, Hastings’ mind, groping, could summon no reply.
Down the companionway came only the familiar sounds of a ship at sea, the creaking of blocks and braces, the low voices of the watch, the whisper of the ocean.
“So, sir, you presume upon my hospitality!”
“There are laws—” Hastings’ voice was thick—“that override the laws of ‘hospitality.’”
“I fear, sir, you are little versed in the customs of gentlemen.” And Widmer, measuring the effect of the retort, let the smile creep to his eyes.
Drawing himself erect, Hastings stepped forward until the shadow of the casement fell across his face and masked it, but although he said nothing, Widmer persisted.
“Gentlemen have a code of their own. And when a man fails to meet that code, it is sometimes necessary to teach him a painful lesson.”
Another pause followed, then, clearly and distinctly, a shrill laugh from somewhere beyond the cabin sounded on the night air.
“Gentlemen—” Widmer’s sneering voice began again, but the sentence was not finished.