"Is there picrate of potash on board?" I almost shieked.
"Yes," said Falsten, "a case containing thirty pounds."
"Where is it?" I cried.
"Down in the hold, with the cargo."
CHAPTER XI.
What my feelings were I cannot describe; but it was hardly in
terror so much as with a kind of resignation that I made my way
to Curtis on the forecastle, and made him aware that the alarming
character of our situation was now complete, as there was enough
explosive matter on board to blow up a mountain. Curtis received
the information as coolly as it was delivered, and after I had
made him acquainted with all the particulars said,--
"Not a word of this must be mentioned to any one else, Mr.
Kazallon, where is Ruby now?"
"On the poop," I said.
"Will you then come with me, sir?"
Ruby and Falsten were sitting just as I had left them. Curtis
walked straight up to Ruby, and asked him whether what he had
been told was true.
"Yes, quite true," said Ruby, complacently, thinking that the
worst that could befall him would be that he might be convicted
of a little smuggling.
I observed that Curtis was obliged for a moment or two to clasp
his hands tightly together behind his back to prevent himself
from seizing the unfortunate passenger by the throat; but
suppressing his indignation, he proceeded quietly, though
sternly, to interrogate him about the facts of the case. Ruby
only confirmed what I had already told him. With characteristic
Anglo-Saxon incautiousness he had brought on board with the rest
of his baggage, a case containing no less than thirty pounds of
picrate, and had allowed the explosive matter to be stowed in the
hold with as little compunction as a Frenchman would feel in
smuggling a single bottle of wine.
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