came to dialogue, he was no match for this sarcastic
purveyor of words. He wondered whether Monsieur Chatelard was actually
as cool as he appeared. As he stood there, the _Jeanne D'Arc_ pitched
forward until it seemed that she could never right herself, then slowly
and laboriously she rode the waves again.

"You are a more picturesque villain than I thought," remarked James.
"You have all the tricks of the stage hero--secret passages, fancy
weapons, and--crowning glory--a fatal gift of gab!"

Monsieur Chatelard arose, making his way toward the hatch.

"Many thanks. I can not return the compliment in such a happy choice
of English," he scoffed, "but I can truthfully say that I have rarely
seen so striking and unique a figure as I now behold; certainly never
on the stage, to which you so politely refer."

But James was too deeply intent on his next move to be embarrassed by
his lack of clothes. Not in vain had his gorge risen almost at first
sight of this man. He stepped quickly in front of Monsieur Chatelard,
blocking his exit up the ladder, while the revolver in his hand looked
straight between the Frenchman's eyes.

Whatever Chatelard's crimes were, he was not a coward. He did not
flinch, but his eyes gleamed like cold steel as Jim cornered him.

"Now," said Jim, "I have my turn." Wrath burned in his heart.

"Captain Paquin! Antoine, Antoine!" called Chatelard. No one answered
the call of the master of the ship, but even as the two men measured
their force one against the other, they were arrested by a commotion
above. Voices were heard shouting, trampling feet were running back
and forth over the deck, and a moment later the ship's cook came
tumbling down the hatchway, screaming in terror. He glared unheeding
at the two men, and his teeth chattered. Fear had possession of him.

Jim lifted his revolver well out of reach, and backed off from
Chatelard. For the first time during the interview between the
American and the Frenchman, the two now faced each other as man to man,
with the mask of their suspicions, their vanities and their hate cast
aside.

"What is the matter? What is this fool saying?" Jim asked in loathing.

At last Monsieur Chatelard looked at Jim with eyes of fear. His face
became so pale and drawn that it resembled a sponge from which the last
drop of water had been pressed.

"He says the yacht is half full of water--that she is sinking," the
Frenchman said.

"Sinking!" echo