The masked captain of the hostile vessel, leaping up, shook his fist at the Flora Macdonald and yelled, ‘Damn your foolish treachery, you money-grubbing hunks! You have a consort.’
‘I assure you that nobody is more surprised than myself,’ cried Mr. Macrae.
‘One minute more and you, your ship, and your crew will be sent to your own place!’ yelled the masked captain.
He vanished below, doubtless to explode the mines under the Flora.
Bude crossed himself; Mr. Macrae, folding his arms, stood calm and defiant on his deck. One sailor (the cook) leaped overboard in terror, the others hastily drew themselves up in a double line, to die like Britons.
A minute passed, a minute charged with terror. Mr. Macrae took out his watch to mark the time. Another minute passed, and no explosion.
The captain of the pirate vessel reappeared on her deck. He cast his hands desperately abroad; his curses, happily, were unheard by Miss Macrae, who was below.
‘Hands up!’ again rang out the voice of Merton, adding, ‘if you begin to submerge your craft, if she stirs an inch, I send you skyward at least as a preliminary measure. My diver has detached your mines from the keel of the Flora Macdonald and has cut the wires leading to them; my bow-tube is pointing directly for you, if I press the switch the torpedo must go home, and then heaven have mercy on your souls!’
A crow of laughter arose from the yachtsmen of the Flora Macdonald, who freely launched terms of maritime contempt at the crew of the pirate submarine, with comments on the probable future of the souls to which Merton had alluded.
On his desk the masked captain stood silent. ‘We have women on board!’ he answered Merton at last.