narrowed, said quietly, "Monsieur, do you mean that?"

"Why, sure I do? Why shouldn't I mean it? It's true."

None of us moved, but it was as if each of us stepped back, leaving
the two men facing each other. In this circle no one would interfere.
It was not our affair. Our detachment isolated the two--McHenry quite
drunk, in full command of his senses but with no controlling
intelligence; Ducat not at all drunk, studying the situation,
considering in his rage and humiliation what would best revenge him
on this man.

Ducat spoke, "McHenry, come out of this cabin with me."

"What for?"

"Come with me."

"Oh, all right, all right," McHenry said.

We stepped back as they passed us. They went up the steps to the deck.
Ducat paused at the break of the poop and stood there, speaking to
McHenry. We could not hear his words. The schooner tossed idly, a
faint creaking of the rigging came down to us in the cabin. The same
question was in every eye. Then Ducat turned on his heel, and
McHenry was left alone.

Our question was destined to remain unanswered. Whatever Ducat had
said, it was something that hushed McHenry forever. He never
mentioned the subject again, nor did any of us. But McHenry's