Bill Quigley was kicked clear
away from me, and the next moment he was flying overboard. It was a
clean throw. He never touched the rail.
Whether Mike Cipriani, who, till then, had lain in a welter, began
crawling aft in quest of safety, or whether he intended harm to
Margaret at the wheel, we shall never know; for there was no
opportunity given him to show his purpose. As swiftly as Mr. Pike
could cross the deck with those giant bounds, just that swiftly was
the Italian in the air and following Bill Quigley overside.
The mate missed nothing with those eagle eyes of his as he returned
along the poop. Nobody was to be seen on the main deck. Even the
lookout had deserted the forecastle-head, and the Elsinore, steered
by Margaret, slipped a lazy two knots through the quiet sea. Mr.
Pike was apprehensive of a shot from ambush, and it was not until
after a scrutiny of several minutes that he put his pistol into his
side coat-pocket and snarled for'ard:
"Come out, you rats! Show your ugly faces! I want to talk with
you!"
Guido Bombini, gesticulating peaceable intentions and evidently
thrust out by Bert Rhine, was the first to appear.
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