Caradoc seemed to collect himself with a great effort. The blood ebbed from his face, leaving it the color of clay.
“Stolen?” he asked in a contained voice. “Yes, isn't there another medicine case for you to steal?”
“Greer!” cried Madden reproachfully. The American knew it was hunger, heat and nerves that were nagging these two miserable men to quarrel.
“I believe he said I was no gentleman,” pronounced Greer sarcastically, “because I didn't know a little French. I say he's a thief.”
Caradoc was drawing long breaths through dilated nostrils. “Mr. Greer,” he said with cold evenness, “it is impossible to obtain swords or pistols on this dock. We will have to fight with our hands. Choose a second!”
Greer nodded shortly. Both men got to their feet and both glanced at Madden.
The American shook his head. “I can't serve for either of you. I'm in command here. I'm impartial.”
“Will you oblige me, Mr. Deschaillon?” asked Smith with a set face.
