They would naturally resent any interference, any change in ownership, or control.
Possibly, if they were thieves, as I more than half suspected, they had loot buried nearby, and were anxious to get us out of the way long enough to remove it unobserved.

This appealed to me as by far the most probable explanation.
I had cleaned the dishes, and was sitting on the stool, leaning back against the wall, already becoming sleepy, listening to the rhythmic pulsation of the engines at low speed, when the door opened again, and the guard stood revealed before me in the glare of light.
"The old man wants you," he explained brusquely, waving his hand aft as though specifying the direction.

"Come on, now." "What does he want ?" "How the hell do I know! But let me tell you, his orders go on this boat." I preceded him along the narrow passage, utterly indifferent to the threat in his manner, but still conscious that one hand gripped the butt of his revolver.

Without doubt the fellow had orders to be vigilant, and, perhaps, would even welcome some excuse for violence.

I gave him none, however, hopeful that the approaching interview might yield new information.