“No! I cannot give you all those lives!” he cried. Then, before Mrs. Travers could guess the meaning of this outburst, he declared that as the two captives must be saved he would go alone into the lagoon. He could not think of using force. “You understand why,” he said to Mrs. Travers and she whispered a faint “Yes.” He would run the risk alone. His hope was in Belarab being able to see where his true interest lay. “If I can only get at him I would soon make him see,” he mused aloud. “Haven't I kept his power up for these two years past? And he knows it, too. He feels it.” Whether he would be allowed to reach Belarab was another matter. Lingard lost himself in deep thought. “He would not dare,” he burst out. Mrs. Travers listened with parted lips. Carter did not move a muscle of his youthful and self-possessed face; only when Lingard, turning suddenly, came up close to him and asked with a red flash of eyes and in a lowered voice, “Could you fight this brig?” something like a smile made a stir amongst the hairs of his little fair moustache. “'Could I?” he said. “I could try, anyhow.” He paused, and added hardly above his breath, “For the lady--of course.” Lingard seemed staggered as though he had been hit in the chest. “I was thinking of the brig,” he said, gently. “Mrs. Travers would be on board,” retorted Carter. “What! on board. Ah yes; on board. Where else?” stammered Lingard. Carter looked at him in amazement. “Fight! You ask!” he said, slowly. “You just try me.” “I shall,” ejaculated Lingard. He left the cabin calling out “serang!” A thin cracked voice was heard immediately answering, “Tuan!” and the door slammed to. “You trust him, Mrs. Travers?” asked Carter, rapidly. “You do not--why?” she answered. “I can't make him out. If he was another kind of man I would say he was drunk,” said Carter. “Why is he here at all--he, and this brig of his? Excuse my boldness--but have you promised him anything?” “I--I promised!” exclaimed Mrs. Travers in a bitter tone which silenced Carter for a moment. “So much the better,” he said at last. “Let him show what he can do first and . . .” “Here! Take this,” said Lingard, who re-entered the cabin fumbling about his neck. Carter mechanically extended his hand. “What's this for?” he asked, looking at a small brass key attached to a thin chain. “Powder magazine. Trap door under the table. The man who has this key commands the brig while I am away. The serang understands. You have her very life in your hand there.” Carter looked at the small key lying in his half-open palm. “I was just telling Mrs. Travers I didn't trust you--not altogether. . . .” “I know all about it,” interrupted Lingard, contemptuously. “You carry a blamed pistol in your pocket to blow my brains out--don't you? What's that to me? I am thinking of the brig. I think I know your sort. You will do.” “Well, perhaps I might,” mumbled Carter, modestly.