I said.

"Ay, sir. No mistaking that pair o' legs. They don't go like an
Englishman's would. That was old Jarette."

I set my teeth hard, and almost writhed at the feeling of impotence
which troubled me. To have been so near success, and then for that
scoundrel, who had promised to work faithfully for us if he were
forgiven, to have played the spy, and contrived after hearing our plot
to change the contents of the tins. For it was all clear enough now in
my memory, and I could recall every word the man had said to the cook.

"We ought to have kept some one on the watch while we made our plans," I
said to myself, but felt how absurd it was to murmur now that the
mischief was done.

The heat seemed a little less intense now, but it was so terrible that
the throbbing in my head commenced again, and I was ready to order an
attempt to be made to force up one side of the hatch, when there was a
whisper.

"What say, Bob?" I replied.

"Didn't speak, sir," was the reply.

"You then, Dumlow?"

"No; not me, sir."

"Well then, Barney, it was you," I said tetchily. "What do you want?"

"I never spoke, sir," said Barney, in an ill-used tone. "What do they
want to say it was me for?"

"Cheer up!" came now quite plainly.

"Eh? Who spoke?"

"Friend," was whispered again.

"Yes, what? Who is it?"

"Pst!"

I waited for whoever it was to speak again, but there was not another
sound, and I turned to where I believed Bob to be lying.

"Who could that be?" I said.

"Well, sir, when a man blows his words down through a slit in a
tarpaulin--"

"You think it came down through the hole you cut?"

"Yes, sir, sure on it; but as I was a-saying, when a man blows his words
down like that he might just as well be whistlin' a hornpipe for all you
can tell who it is. But if I was put upon my oath afore a judge I
should swear as it were Plum Duff."

"What do you mean?" I said.

"Well, sir, old Byled Salt Pork."

"The cook?"

"That's him, sir."

"But he whispered `Friend,'" I panted excitedly.

"Yes, and that's what bothered me. If it had been any one else it would
ha' been all right, but one can't quite believe in a cook being your
friend at any time. After what has taken place just lately I should say
he was the worsest enemy we ever had."

"No, no," I cried eagerly, "the man could not help it. He was innocent
enough. It was that scoundrel who did the mischief."

"All right, sir; have it your own w