e going to round
on their English and French associates, collar the loot for
themselves, and sail the yawl--Heaven alone knew where! But--in that
case, what was going to become of me and my helpless companion? It was
not likely that these Easterns would treat us with the consideration
which we had received from the queer, eccentric, somewhat
muddle-headed Netherfield Baxter, who--it struck me with odd
inconsequence at that inopportune moment--was certainly a combination
of Dick Turpin, Gil Blas, and Don Quixote.

I suppose it was nearly an hour that passed: it may have been more; it
may have been less; what I know is that it gave me some idea of what
an accused man may feel who, waiting in a cell below, wonders what the
foreman of a jury is going to say when he is called upstairs once more
to the dock which he has vacated pending that jury's deliberations.
Once or twice I thought of daring everything, rousing Miss Raven, and
attempting an escape by means of the boat which no doubt lay at the
side of the yawl. But reflection suggested that so desperate a deed
would only mean getting a bullet through me, and perhaps through her
as well. Then I speculated on my chances of making a sinuous way along
the deck on my hands and knees, or on my stomach, snake-fashion, with
the idea of listening at the hatch of the galley--reflection, again,
warned me that such an adventure would as likely as not end up with a
few inches of cold steel in my side or through my gullet. So there I
lay, sweating with fear, rapidly disintegrating as to nerve-power,
becoming a lump of moral rag-and-bone--and suddenly, unheralded by the
slightest sound, I saw the figure of a man on my stairway, his outline
silhouetted against the sky and the stars.

It was not because of any bravery on my part--I am sure of that--but
through sheer fright that, before I had the least idea of what I was
doing, I had thrown myself clear of rugs and pillows, sprung to my
feet, made one frenzied leap across the bit of intervening space and
clutched my intruder by his arms before his softly-padded feet touched
the floor of the cabin. My own breath was coming in gasps--but the
response to my frenzy was quiet and cool as an autumnal afternoon.

"Can you row a boat?"

I shall never forget the mental douche which dashed itself over me in
that clear, yet scarcely perceptible whisper, accompanied as it was by
a ghost-like laugh of sheer amusement. I released my grip, staring in