Suddenly he disappeared below the rail.
He rose again. An axe was aloft in both his hands. He rushed at the rope. He struck! The miserable little pirate! He chopped the rope, the infinitesimal assassin!
The yacht keeled over, under pressure of the gale, and Mrs. Mink and Professor Simpson disappeared. Probably they slid to the other side. The bridge was dragged after the yacht. I was nearly on it, and all but pitched from the bank into the water. Norah sat up and yelled. The green parrot climbed down and swore. The Violetta regained her level and drifted rapidly away.
I picked up the axe that had been used to fell the palm trees, and ran along the shore. It was an action not suited to my physique. I had to stop and take breath.
“However,” I reflected, “he's done for himself. Mrs. Mink won't stand for it. Or—or, will she?”
At the same time I did not like a rival so fertile in expedients, nor the fact that he and Mrs. Mink were both Presbyterians.
The yacht was not driving in the direction of the open sea, but across the bay, nearly toward the spot where Professor Simpson and I had had our first altercation.