Here the pen had dropped from the writer's hand.
IV
The boy turned with beating heart: he had struck gold indeed.
Unshipping the despatch bag, he slung it about his shoulders.
Lifting the pistol, he snatched the chart, and thrust it under the flap of the locked bag.
The action set the candle swaling. It shot out a snake-like flame that licked the bald pate of the sleeping privateersman.
He awoke with a start and a sacre, clapping his hand to his singed head.
Then through drink-and-sleep-blurred eyes, he saw the naked figure by the door.
He half rose, little fat man, so pleased.
"Mon ange!" he cried, and fluttered both arms, much as Gwen's young canaries fluttered their wings when seeking food from their mother.