ven't a pocket-knife,
'ave you?"

"No," answered Martin.

His spirits were at zero, with the diminishing prospect of tasting
those wet tomatoes. His raging thirst, whetted by expectation,
assailed him with added force; he was actually dizzy with lust of drink.

"Blimme! 'Aven't you anything in your pockets what's sharp?" asked the
boatswain. "Ow, what tough luck!"

Martin suddenly remembered something.

"Got--keys," he croaked. "Bunch--keys."

"Keys!" echoed the other. "Bless me that's better. May work it. Can
you reach them--what pocket? Side? 'Ere--lean closer to me, an' I'll
get 'em out. Keys! Ow--any of them sharp pointed? Any Yales?"

Two of the boatswain's clublike fingers worked their way into Martin's
trousers pocket.

"Don't know--not--mine," Martin answered the questioning. "Keys
belong--Little Billy--gave----"

The boatswain's fingers stopped prodding for a second. The man tensed,
drew in a sharp breath, and then exploded an oath.

"What! Billy's keys? God 'elp us lad, did ye say you 'ad Little
Billy's keys?"

The fingers dove into the pocket with redoubled energy, grasped the
keys, and drew them out. And then the boatswain pawed them over for a
moment.

"Ow, strike me, 'e spoke right!" he muttered exultingly. "Billy's
keys--the steward's ring! Oh ho! An' may the devil swiggle me
bleedin' well stiff, if 'ere ain't the wery key! By 'Eaven, I'll 'ave
my bare 'ands on that bloke yet! Ow--what luck!"

"What--" commenced the astonished Martin.

"What!" echoed the boatswain. "Ere--you just stand around, and let me
get at them bracelets. I'll show ye what! Ow--where's the bloody
'ole! Ah-h!"

There was a tiny click--and Martin felt his steel bonds being drawn
from his wrists. His nerveless arms fell to his sides.

The boatswain explained the miracle.

"Little Billy's keys--'ow'd you 'appen--don't ye see, lad? There's a
duplicate key to these irons on Billy's key-ring. Old man 'as the
other key--or 'ad, suppose Carew 'as it now. It fits all the irons.
'Ere, turn me loose now. This little key!"

A moment later, Martin's fumbling fingers completed their task, and the
big man's limbs were free. The boatswain straightened and stretched
with a grunt of satisfaction. Martin, obeying the dominant need, which
was to drink, seized the can of tomatoes and commenced to pound it
against the stanchion, in the hope of bursting it open.

"'Ere--stop that!" hoarsely commande