He bowed coldly to Pachmann; then, with a sudden gesture, held out his hand to the Prince. But Pachmann interposed before the Prince could take it.
"That I cannot permit," he said grimly, and he opened the door.
A barefooted sailor, clad in white duck, standing on the deck outside, saluted. Pachmann stood for a moment staring after Vard's retreating figure; then he turned back into the room. The Prince was helping himself to a drink, and Pachmann joined him.
"Yes," he said, "this is what we need, after all that raving."
"Would you call it that?" asked the Prince.
"Raving? Yes, it was precisely that! The man is mad, my Prince; absolutely mad. No one but a madman would speak as he does—of citizens of the world, the brotherhood of man, and all that folly!"
The Prince drained his glass.
"I fear you are right," he said, as he set it down. "Yes, I fear you are right, and that it is only folly!"
"There is one thing you must not forget," added Pachmann, his hand on the door; "since he is mad, it is as a madman he must be treated!" and he led the way out upon the deck.