When Kipping, however, dived under
Frank's feet, Frank, who had expected him to turn and run, tripped and
fell, dropping the carving-knife, and instantly black man and white
wriggled toward the weapon.
It would have been funny if it hadn't been so dramatic. The two men
sprawled on their bellies like snakes, neither of them daring to take time
to stand, each, in the snap of a finger, striving with every tendon and
muscle to reach something that lay just beyond his finger-tips. I found
myself actually laughing--they looked so like two fish just out of water.
But the fight suddenly had become bitter earnest, Kipping unquestionably
feared for his life, and the cook knew well that the weapon for which they
fought would be turned against him if his antagonist once got possession of
it.
As Kipping closed his fingers on the handle, the cook grabbed the blade.
Then the mate appeared out of the dark.
"Here, what's this?" he demanded, looming on the scene of the struggle.
I saw starlight flash on the knife as it flew over the bulwark, then I
heard it splash. Kipping got away by a quick twist and vanished. The cook
remained alone to face the mate, for you can be very sure that I had every
discreet intention not to reveal my presence in the dark galley.
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