Baggin wriggled uncomfortably in his chair, but made no answer, and the other man eyed him keenly. Baggin must have felt rather than observed the scrutiny, for suddenly he looked up and caught the sailor's eye. "Eh?" he asked, as though to some unspoken question. Then, "Where is Grayson?" Again the smile on the swart face of the Brazilian. "He is here," he said, as a stout figure in white ducks shuffled awkwardly along the canting deck. He came opposite to Baggin; and, drawing a chair towards him with a grunt, he dropped into it with a crash. "You grow fatter, my friend," said Baggin. "Fatter!" gasped the other. "Of course I'm fatter! No exercise--this cursed ship! Oh, what a fool, what a fool I've been!" "Forget it," said Baggin. He took a long gold case from his inside pocket, opened it, and selected with care a black cheroot. "Forget it." "I wish I could! I'd give half-a-million to be safe in the hands of the Official Receiver! I'd give half-a-million to be serving five years in Sing Sing! Baggin," he said, with comic earnestness, "we've got to compromise! It's got to be done. Where do we stand, eh?" Baggin puffed leisurely at his cigar, but made no attempt to elucidate the position. He was used to all this; but now, with his nerves on edge, this cowardice of Grayson's grated. "Where are the Nine Men of Cadiz?" demanded Grayson, the sweat rolling down his cheeks. "Where is Bortuski? Where is Morson? Where is Couthwright? Zillier, we know where he is, or was, but where are the others? You and me and Count Poltavo and the rest--phutt!" He made a little noise with his mouth. "I know!" he said. He raised a trembling finger accusingly. "My dear man," said Baggin lazily, though his face was white and his lips firm-pressed. "There was the storm----" "That's a lie!" screamed Grayson, beating the air with his hands; "that's a lie! The storm didn't take Kohr from his bunk and leave blood on his pillow! It didn't make Morson's cabin smell of chloroform! I know, I know!" "There is such a thing as knowing too much," said George T. Baggin, rising unsteadily. "Grayson," he said, "I've been a good friend of yours because I sort of like you in spite of your foolishness. Our friends perished in the storm; it wasn't a bad thing for us, taking matters all round. If this manifesto of ours doesn't secure us a pardon, we can risk making a run for safety. There are fewer of us to blab. See here"--he sat down on the side of the other's chair and dropped his voice--"suppose we can't shock this old world into giving us a free pardon, and the sun gets too warm for us, as it will sooner or later----" "Suppose it!" Grayson burst in. "Do you think there's an hour of the day or night when I don't suppose it? Lord! I----" "Listen, can't you?" said Baggin savagely. "When that happens, what are we to do? We've buried gold on the African coast; we've buried it on the South American coast----"