He wriggled out of bed and, supporting himself against the wall, made his way to the door, and crawled away, mumbling to himself as he went.
A few minutes afterwards Phips and Gering were talking in the cabin.
Phips was weighing the silver up and down in his hands.
"At least three hundred good guineas here!" he said.

There was a shuffling behind them, and, as Phips turned, a figure lunged on him, clutched and hugged the silver.

It was Bucklaw.
"Mine! mine!" he called in a hoarse voice, with great gluttonous eyes.
"All mine!" he cried again.

Then he gasped and came to the ground in a heap, with the silver hugged in his arms.

All at once he caught at his throat; the bandage of his wound fell away and there was a rush of blood over the silver.