Vail was strong, too.  After I had held Williams over the rail I turned to find him looking on, amused.  And when the frightened darky had taken himself, muttering threats, to the galley, Vail came over to me and ran his hand down my arm.

“Where did you get it?” he asked.

“Oh, I’ve always had some muscle,” I said.  “I’m in bad shape now; just getting over fever.”

“Fever, eh?  I thought it was jail.  Look here.”

He threw out his biceps for me to feel.  It was a ball of iron under my fingers.  The man was as strong as an ox.  He smiled at my surprise, and, after looking to see that no one was in sight, offered to mix me a highball from a decanter and siphon on a table.

I refused.

It was his turn to be surprised.

“I gave it up when I was in train—­ in the hospital,” I corrected myself.  “I find I don’t miss it.”

He eyed me with some curiosity over his glass, and, sauntering away, left me to my work of folding rugs.  But when I had finished, and was chalking the deck for shuffle-board, he joined me again, dropping his voice, for the women had come up by that time and were breakfasting on the lee side of the after house.

“Have you any idea, Leslie, how much whiskey there is on board?”

“Williams has considerable, I believe.  I don’t think there is any in the forward house.  The captain is a teetotaler.”

“I see.  When these decanters go back, Williams takes charge of them?”

“Yes.  He locks them away.”

He dropped his voice still lower.

“Empty them, Leslie,” he said.  “Do you understand?  Throw what is left overboard.  And, if you get a chance at Williams’s key, pitch a dozen or two quarts overboard.”

“And be put in irons!”

“Not necessarily.  I think you understand me.  I don’t trust Williams.  In a week we could have this boat fairly dry.”

“There is a great deal of wine.”

He scowled.  “Damn Williams, anyhow!  His instructions were—­but never mind about that.  Get rid of the whiskey.”

Turner coming up the companionway at that moment, Vail left me.  I had understood him perfectly.  It was common talk in the forecastle that Turner was drinking hard, and that, in fact, the cruise had been arranged by his family in the hope that, away from his clubs; he would alter his habits—­a fallacy, of course.  Taken away from his customary daily round, given idle days on a summer sea, and aided by Williams, the butler, he was drinking his head off.

Early as it was, he was somewhat the worse for it that morning.  He made directly for me.  It was the first time he had noticed me, although it was the third day out.  He stood in front of me, his red eyes flaming, and, although I am a tall man, he had an inch perhaps the advantage of me.

“What’s this about Williams?” he demanded furiously.  “What do you mean by a thing like that?”