A squeal of
the speaking-tube whistle followed instantly; and Lanyard set foot upon
the bridge in time to hear Mr. Collison demanding to know what the
sanguinary hades had happened down there. Whatever reply he got seemed
to exasperate him into incoherence. He stuttered with rage, gasped, and
addressed the man at the wheel.
"I've got a flash-lamp in my cabin. That'll show us the compass card at
least. Stand by while I run down and get it."
The man mumbled an "Aye, aye, sir." Retreating footsteps were just
audible.
Neither speaker had been visible to Lanyard. By putting out a hand he
could have touched the helmsman, but his body made not even the shadow
of a silhouette against the sky. The fog was rendering the night the
simple and unqualified negation of light.
And in that time of Stygian gloom violence was done swiftly, surely,
and without mercy; with pity, yes, and with regret. Lanyard was sorry
for the man at the wheel. But what was to be done could not be done in
any other way.
The surprise aided him, for the fellow offered barely a show of
opposition. His astounded faculties had no more than recognised the
call for resistance when he was powerless in Lanyard's hands.
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