"Oh, Dick's all right." And indeed Dick was sitting up a few paces off, and coughing violently.
"But look here, you've played us a pretty trick!" the voice went on.
Tristram did not know that his wig had been lost in the struggle, or that the burnt cork which Captain Salt had applied was now running across his face in a vague smear. He had forgotten all about his disguise.
"I was thinking," he answered simply, "that you might give me the start I held before this happened. Fifteen yards, gentlemen, is as near as I can guess it. Don't you think that would be fair!"
"But why should we chase you at all?"
"Upon my word, sirs, I don't know. I took it for granted that you must have some motive."
"So we had; but it appears that you are not Captain Salt."
"That is certain. A man cannot well be his own father."
"But you are disguised to resemble him."
"Ah! I remember. It was a fancy of his to dress me thus, an hour back. But stop a minute—I begin to perceive. You were after my father?"