Don't turn. Don't raise your voice! You never saw a Maltese face
here?"
"No. What do you mean?" he asks, staring at me.
"Nor yet, an English face, with one eye and a patch across the nose?"
"No. What ails you? What do you mean?"
I had seen both, looking at us round the stem of a cocoa-nut tree, where
the moon struck them. I had seen that Sambo Pilot, with one hand laid on
the stem of the tree, drawing them back into the heavy shadow. I had
seen their naked cutlasses twinkle and shine, like bits of the moonshine
in the water that had got blown ashore among the trees by the light wind.
I had seen it all, in a moment. And I saw in a moment (as any man
would), that the signalled move of the pirates on the mainland was a plot
and a feint; that the leak had been made to disable the sloop; that the
boats had been tempted away, to leave the Island unprotected; that the
pirates had landed by some secreted way at the back; and that Christian
George King was a double-dyed traitor, and a most infernal villain.
I considered, still all in one and the same moment, that Charker was a
brave man, but not quick with his head; and that Sergeant Drooce, with a
much better head, was close by.
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