of the
place he called the two boys, who had been up forward helping the
patching.

"Here, young 'uns, get below and clean up," he ordered sharply, and
handed each lad a bucket and a deck-brush. They filled the buckets and
went below reluctantly. At first it was impossible for them to stay
under hatches for more than five minutes at a time, so they took turns
in running up for air and a fresh supply of water. Gradually the
flooding they gave the place told in its atmosphere, and by noon they
had put it into decent shape again. Hardly had Jeremy come on deck,
weary and sickened with this task, when Captain Bonnet called to him
from the companion. He made his way aft and entered the cabin. Bonnet
had just resumed his place at the broad table. Opposite him and facing
Jeremy was the big slouched figure of Captain Manewaring. "Bring the
wine, Jeremy," said the buccaneer quietly, and without turning. He was
looking with steady eyes at his guest. Jeremy went back along the
passage to the wine-locker under the companion stairs and took from it
two bottles of Madeira. As he was closing the cupboard door, Bonnet's
voice cut the air like a knife. The two words he spoke were not loud,
but pronounced with a terrible distinctness. "You lie!" was what he
said.

Jeremy shivered and waited, listening. There was no reply loud enough
for him to hear through the closed door of the cabin. After a moment he
tiptoed back and before turning the knob listened again. Nothing but
silence. He opened the door with a pounding heart and stepped into the
room.

The two men sat motionless in their places. Bonnet held a cocked pistol
in his right hand, its point covering the other man's head. On the table
before Manewaring was a second pistol. His face was drawn and gray and a
fine sweat stood upon his forehead. Jeremy shrank against the wall,
hardly breathing, his two bottles clutched idiotically, one in each
hand. The tense seconds ticked on by the cabin clock.

"Come--quick!" said the pirate, with a gesture toward the other pistol.
Manewaring's hand appeared over the edge of the table and gave a
trembling jerk toward the pistol-butt. Then it fell back into his lap.
He gasped. A drop of sweat ran down his temple into his gray beard.
Again the only sounds were the tick of the cabin clock, the wash of the
seas outside and the hoarse breathing of the cornered man. At length he
moved with a sort of shudder, whispered the name of his Maker and seized