In a flash the boy had turned the key in the lock behind him, and flung it through the open port.
Then he swung the despatch-bag.
Many a pillow-fight with Gwen up and down the twisting passages of their attic nursery had made him expert. Crash it came down on Piggy's bald skull.
"One from your ange!" cried the lad, and followed up with a left-hander between the eyes.
Down crashed the amorous gentleman, spluttering.
A foot, planted fair on his mouth, stifled his cry.
Before he could recover, the boy was through the port, on to the lugger, and had slipped into the sea, quiet as a water-rat.
Behind him a dreadful scream woke the ship.
"Les depeches! Les depeches!"