‘Marian, Bates, Johnstone,’ exclaimed Tom, pointing at Rotch, ‘that’s the man you have sometimes heard me name! He is called Rotch--Samuel Rotch. He was my chief mate aboard the _Arab Chief_. I gave you the story last night. You saw how I dealt with him just now. It was in that way I served him at Valparaiso when the toad insulted a lady of my acquaintance at a dance there. That was the man who slept in his watch on deck when the sea was thick with shipping. He lost his berth, but I got him another; and I let him serve under me in the _Arab Chief_, when he was named as chief mate. You, Rotch!’ He drew a pistol from his pocket--one of the brace we had found in the brig--and put it upon the table. For some while he eyed Rotch steadily in silence. I believed he meant to shoot him. Had he offered, I, standing close beside, should have struck away the hand that attempted to hinder him. Rotch looked ghastly. He trembled from head to foot. His hands worked with a strange, spasmodic motion, as though he would lift and clasp them in entreaty. ‘You Rotch,’ repeated Tom, after a silence that had lasted at least a minute--a minute that seemed an hour; ‘we were on very good terms during the first part of our voyage. I talked to you somewhat freely, told you of my engagement with this young lady, of my venture in the barque, and to what extent I had protected it, and I spoke hopefully of the voyage to you. And all the time you were plotting my ruin. Was it that you hated me for that little affair at Valparaiso? For reporting you and losing you a berth? For holding command in a ship which you supposed you’d obtain charge of if you could get me out of the road? Surely, you Rotch, these provided but shabby foundations for the heavy weight of villainy you constructed upon them.’ At this point he picked up the pistol and replaced it in his pocket. ‘What was your scheme? Nodder was second mate and carpenter. What you promised him, how you bribed him, I don’t know. He’ll tell me before he dies. But what you did was this: You took an auger from his tool-chest. You and he pierced the skin and side in the lazarette. You plugged the inner skin, hid the auger in my cabin--you found it easily enough afterwards!--took men to listen to the water flowing, brought them into my berth, searched for the auger, charged me with attempting to scuttle the ship, and made a prisoner of me. Was this so?’ Rotch stood listening, with his eyes fixed upon the deck. He made no answer. ‘Marian,’ said Tom, ‘you were present at my trial. You remember how glibly he gave his evidence and answered questions on his oath. Will he take his oath now that his story was true? You Rotch, here stands my friend Bates, who has judged me throughout a wronged man; here stands Miss Johnstone’s cousin, who believes me innocent; here stands that Miss Johnstone about whom I have so often talked to you. They hear me. They will listen to you. Is it true that I attempted to scuttle the _Arab Chief_?’