Urquhart lifted his chin in defiance as he sat opposite Watters, with Fairweather staring at him in n***d loathing.
“You tried to sink my ship,” Fairweather said.
“I did,” Urquhart responded. He looked even older in the gloom of the small cabin, with bald patches showing through the silver hairs on his head, but he sat as erect as a guardsman. He coughed, tried to hide the blood on his lips and coughed again.
“Why?” Watters asked. “You are a seaman. You know how dangerous sinking a ship can be and how many lives can be lost.”
Urquhart did not flinch. “There would be no lives lost. Half the whaling fleet is within a few hours sail.”
“You murdering hound,” Captain Fairweather could barely contain his fury. Watters thought he was about to launch himself across the desk in the tiny cabin.
