"Right!" says Charker, "yes, yes; all's right enough here; what should be
wrong here? It's the boats that we want to know of. Except for fire-
flies twinkling about, and the lonesome splashes of great creatures as
they drop into the water, there's nothing going on here to ease a man's
mind from the boats."

The moon was above the sea, and had risen, I should say, some half-an-
hour. As Charker spoke, with his face towards the sea, I, looking
landward, suddenly laid my right hand on his breast, and said, "Don't
move. Don't turn. Don't raise your voice! You never saw a Maltese face
here?"

"No. What do you mean?" he asks, staring at me.

"Nor yet, an English face, with one eye and a patch across the nose?"

"No. What ails you? What do you mean?"

I had seen both, looking at us round the stem of a cocoa-nut tree, where
the moon struck them. I had seen that Sambo Pilot, with one hand laid on
the stem of the tree, drawing them back into the heavy shadow. I had
seen their naked cutlasses twinkle and shine, like bits of the moonshine
in the water that had got blown ashore among the trees by the light wind.
I had seen it all, in a moment. And I saw in a moment (as any man
would), that the signalled move of the pirates on the mainland was a plot
and a feint; that the leak had been made to disable the sloop; that the
boats had been tempted away, to leave the Island unprotected; that the
pirates had landed by some secreted way at the back; and that Christian
George King was a double-dyed traitor, and a most infernal villain.