A heavy step sounded on the companion steps, and Chard descended somewhat unsteadily, and calling for the second steward--who was in the pantry--to come to him, brushed past the chief officer, and went into his own cabin.
The second steward--a dirty, evil-faced little cockney named Jessop, whom Oliver and his fellow officers particularly abhorred--at once followed the supercargo in to his cabin, which was immediately closed. In less than five minutes it opened again, and Jessop came out and returned to the pantry, and presently Oliver heard the rattle of cups and saucers as the man made preparations for the coffee which was always served to Hendry, Chard, Carr, and Tessa and her attendant, and the officer on watch at nine o'clock every evening.
“Would you like a cup of coffee, sir, as you have not turned in?”
It was Jessop who was speaking, and Oliver looked up in some wonder, for the man knew that he disliked him, and indeed he (Oliver) had once smartly cuffed him for creating a disturbance for'ard with the native crew.
Most fortunately for himself, Oliver did not want any coffee, so merely giving the man a gruff “No, thank you,” he rose and went on deck.
The moment he was out of the cabin Chard appeared, and looked inquiringly at the second steward.
“'E won't 'ave any, blarst him!” said the man, speaking in a whisper, for Latour, the chief steward, was in his cabin, which was abreast the trade-room.
Chard uttered a curse. “Never mind him, then. Sling it out of the port or you'll be giving it to me instead perhaps. Are the other two cups ready?”
The man nodded. “All ready, but it's a bit early yet.”
“That doesn't matter. Pour it out and take it to them--the sooner the better.”
Chard, whose dark face was deeply flushed, sat down at the table, lit a cigar, and watched his villainous accomplice place the two cups of coffee with some biscuits on a tray, take it to Miss Remington's door and knock.
“Thank you, steward,” he heard Tessa's soft voice reply as Maoni opened the door and took the tray from Jessop.
The supercargo rose from his seat with a smile of satisfaction. The crime he meditated seemed no crime to his base and vicious heart. He merely regarded it as a clever trick; dangerous perhaps, but not dangerous to him; for deeply steeped as he was in numerous villainies he had never yet been called to account for any one of his misdeeds, and long immunity had rendered him utterly hardened and callous to any sentiment of pity or remorse.