Not a pleasant
reflection in view of the boatswain's scheme.

Carew, breaking roughly into Ichi's speech, commanded his attention.

"Never mind all that, Ichi! By Jove! We can not afford to waste time
listening to pretty courtesies!" He swung upon Martin with menacing
eye and voice. "Here you! No ---- hedging now! What has become of
the code writing that directed to the ambergris hidden ashore?
Come--spit it out. Where is it?"

Martin blinked with surprise at the sudden attack, and at the question
itself. He and the boatswain had taken it for granted that Carew,
having been ashore on Fire Mountain, had obtained possession of the
treasure. The question implied that Carew and his followers had failed
to locate the cache; that he had been hauled out of the lazaret for the
purpose of giving them information.

"Come--speak up!" commanded Carew, again.

Martin attempted to dissemble.

"I don't know anything about it," he lied. "I have been a common
sailor on the ship, and have not been in the confidence----"

"Enough! Spin that yarn to the marines. I want the truth!" cried
Carew. "Common sailor--not in their confidence--hey? And since when
has Old Man Dabney permitted his foremast hands to live aft? How long
since Ruth Le Moyne takes a heart interest in common sailors? Hey?"

He leaned forward in his chair, and shot the questions at Martin. His
face was suddenly debased with evil passion, and bitter hatred was
clearly revealed in his blazing eyes.

"Listen to me, my fine fellow!" he went on. "You fooled me once and
spoiled my plans with your double dealing. But this time you'll throw
no dust in my eyes! You'll not get by with any cock-and-bull yarn this
time. I know just how warmly you feathered your nest--humoring that
old blind fool and making love to his granddaughter. A pretty reward
opened to you by your treachery that night in Frisco--a fortune and a
sweetheart to boot! Hey, my winsome fancy man! A fine chance you've
had for your billing and cooing; but now by Heaven, you'll pay the
piper!"

Martin gasped before the wordy onslaught. But Carew's hot words, and
his appearance, conveyed to Martin's alert mind a startling truth--it
was not lust for treasure that inspired Wild Bob's verbal flogging, or
venomous glances; it was jealousy, a wild, hate-filled jealousy of him,
Martin Blake. Ruth was the core of Carew's rage.

"Come--where is that code?" went on Carew. "Speak up lively, no