malevolently into my face.

Charles Davis, when I peeped into his iron room, was exuberant.

"A pretty tale for the court in Seattle," he exulted. "It'll only
make my case that much stronger. And wait till the reporters get
hold of it! The hell-ship Elsinore! They'll have pretty pickin's!"

"I haven't seen any hell-ship," I said coldly.

"You've seen my treatment, ain't you?" he retorted. "You've seen the
hell I've got, ain't you?"

"I know you for a cold-blooded murderer," I answered.

"The court will determine that, sir. All you'll have to do is to
testify to facts."

"I'll testify that had I been in the mate's place I'd have hanged you
for murder."

His eyes positively sparkled.

"I'll ask you to remember this conversation when you're under oath,
sir," he cried eagerly.

I confess the man aroused in me a reluctant admiration. I looked
about his mean, iron-walled room. During the pampero the place had
been awash. The white paint was peeling off in huge scabs, and iron-
rust was everywhere. The floor was filthy. The place stank with the