Peter's great bulk glided by us.
"I go get a rope," he squeaked.
"A rope!" hiccuped O'Donnell. "And if we don't end in the noose of a rope, we'll likely be walking the plank. I care little for myself. I'll have seen my life and had my fling. But it was an ill day, Murray, you prevailed on me to fetch Moira along. I can't think what was in your mind—a young maid in a pirate hold! 'Tis wicked past belief."
"Tut, tut," remonstrated my great-uncle. "My reasons were of the best, and have been vindicated by events. But here is Peter. You found the rope?"
"Ja," answered Peter, and knotted an end around a leg of the table as I had done the night of our surreptitious entry.
O'Donnell sought solace in another glass of brandy. Murray assisted Peter and me to undress, and accompanied us to the stern windows.
"No needless risks, remember," he whispered as I crawled over the sill. "And above all, avoid discovery. Better learn nothing than be found out."
I had wrapped my ankles around the pendent rope and was prepared for a cautious slide into the water when a faint chuckle escaped him.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I was but thinking what a sturdy pirate you are become."