in'? I asks yer,
Captain.

CAPTAIN: Yer talks silly, Patch. That lantern has hung fer twenty year
on ol' Flint's ship--swingin' easy and contented all 'round the
Horn--and it ain 't never exploded once.

DUKE: Swabs' lanterns explode, stoopid. Ships' lanterns don 't.
Captain, I feels as mournful as when Flint's clock did n't tick no
more and we knowed he was took by the blessed angels.

CAPTAIN: I ain 't meself as gay as a cuckoo--not quite I ain 't.

PATCH: Ever since that ol' lady--

DUKE: Lay off on that ol' lady!

(_They sit in silence, in dejection. All stare stupidly at the floor.
For a moment it seems as if nothing more will be said and the audience
might as well go home. But presently the Duke sees something at the
rear of the cabin. He looks as you or I would look if we saw a yellow
elephant taking its after-dinner coffee in the sitting-room; but, as
he is a pirate, he is not frightened--merely interested and intent. He
brushes his hand before his eyes, to make sure it is no delusion--not
grog or rum. Then he rises softly. He crosses to the window. Very
gently he touches the glass. He finds it is really broken. He loosens
a piece of the shattered glass. The others are sunk in such melancholy
that they do not observe him._

_He gazes through the window, studying the direction of the broken
ship's lantern. He traces the angle with his finger. The gesture ends
with an accusing finger pointing at Red Joe. He whistles softly. For a
moment his eye rests upon the gun, which leans against the clock. He
has guessed the riddle. He advances casually, but with dirk in hand.
He comes in front of Joe. Suddenly he presses the blade of his dirk
against Joe's stomach._)

DUKE: Captain! Captain! Quick! Tie him up!

(_Joe is bound again with rope._)

DUKE: It 's him that done it. It 's Red Joe.

CAPTAIN: How did he get loose?

DUKE: (_as he points to the knife on the floor_). Does yer see that
knife? Does yer see Joe? I 'm tellin' yer. It was him shot out the
lantern.

PATCH: Did n't I help ter tie him meself?

DUKE: Askin' yer pardon, Captain, but you and Patch has the brains o'
a baby aligator. A stuffed rhinocopoterus is pos'-lutely nothin'.
Askin' yer pardon fer speakin' so plain. I does all yer thinkin' for
yer. There 's some folks settin' here as are fat-headed, and thinks
ships' lanterns explode.

PATCH: Easy now, ol' dear. Yer alers pitchin' inter me, 'cause I 'm
good-natered.

CAPTAIN: Red Joe, I c