Castro's eyes were dusky yellow, the pupils a great deal inflated,
the lines of his mouth very hard and drawn immensely tight. It seemed
extraordinary that he should put so much emotion into such a very easy
killing. I had my back against the bulkhead, it felt very hard against
my shoulder-blades. I had no dread, only a sort of shrinking from the
actual contact of the point, as one shrinks from being tickled. I opened
my mouth. I was going to shriek a last, despairing call, to the light
and laughter of meetings above when Carlos, still shaken, with one white
hand pressed very hard upon his chest, started forward and gripped his
hand round Castro's steel. He began to whisper in the other's hairy ear.
I caught:

"You are a fool. He will not make us to be molested, he is my kinsman."

Castro made a reluctant gesture towards Barnes' chest that lay between
us.

"We could cram him into that," he said.

"Oh, bloodthirsty fool," Carlos answered, recovering his breath; "is
it always necessary to wash your hands in blood? Are we not in enough
danger? Up--up! Go see if the boat is yet there. We must go quickly;
up--up-------" He waved his hand towards the scuttle.

"But still," Castro said. He was reluctantly fitting his wooden hand
upon the blue steel. He sent a baleful yellow glare into my eyes, and
stooped to pick up his ragged cloak.

"Up--mount!" Carlos commanded.