"Easy, lad," said Cochrane soothingly. "We'll work on Van Roos together, and if we don't sweat every ounce of blubber out of his fat carcass, my name is not Garry." There was a sharp knock at the door of the forecastle, and a moment later Shida, the other Japanese cabin boy, entered and came directly to the bunk of Harrigan. He whispered in the ear of the Irishman: "Meester Harrigan, get up. Cap'n McTee, he want." "Where is he?" growled Harrigan. "I show." Harrigan slipped on his shoes and followed Shida aft, wondering. The little, quick-footed Jap brought him back of the wheelhouse and then disappeared. Leaning against the rail was McTee, unaware of their coming and peering out at the wake of the ship. As the Heron's stern dipped to a trough of a wave that towered blackly into the night, the outlines of McTee's form were blurred, but the next moment he was tossed up against the very heart of the starry sky. With that peculiar mixture of fear and thrilling exultation which he always felt when he came into the presence of the captain, Harrigan drew close. Perhaps the sailor had chosen this heaving afterdeck as the place for their final death struggle, ending when one of them was hurled into the black ocean. It was this thought which gave the ring to his voice when he called, "I've come, McTee!" The captain whirled, bracing himself against the rail with both hands, as though prepared to meet an attempt to thrust him overboard. Then-- and Harrigan thought his ears deceived him as he listened--McTee said with a great, outgoing breath: "Thank God!" He explained: "Come closer; talk soft! Harrigan, guard yourself tonight. There'll be an attempt at your life!" "Another?" queried Harrigan. "They've tackled you already?" Harrigan took out the knife and waved it in the faint starlight. "They did," he said jauntily, "and they left this behind them as a token." "Listen," said McTee; "it's not for nothing that men call me Black, but all evening I've been remembering the time when we took hands in the trough of the sea. I've thought of that, Harrigan, and it made me weak inside--" He paused, but Harrigan would not speak. "Because I planned your death tonight, Dan." "Angus, the steel ain't been sharpened that can kill me." "Don't be too confident. Get every word I say. I'm washing my soul out for you. It's Hovey and the little Jap, Kamasura, that you'll have to guard against." "I know 'em both." "D'you mean to say--" "No, I didn't make 'em confess, but I saw 'em lookin' at each other. What made you hitch up with swine like them? Was it because of--her?" "Yes." "Then I forgive you for it. Angus, I got a sort of a desire to shake hands with you. There's nothin' but swine an' snakes aboard the Heron. I'd like to feel the grip of a man's hand." They fumbled in the dark and then their hands met. They retained that grasp till the ship sank twice to the deep shadow of the trough and swung up again to the crest.