"Don't waste your breath," broke in Miss Arminster. "They wouldn't."
"Why, I'm sorry to cause you any inconvenience," said the journalist amiably, "but you see, my paper's simply panting for sensation, and when they hear about this little racket they'll sell extras till they can't see straight."
"And what, may I ask, will happen when the truth comes out?" demanded his Lordship severely.
"Oh, the war'll probably be over by the time you reach New York, and you'll cease to be interesting," replied Marchmont. "Besides, we'll have had our scoop, and most likely, when the Daily Leader finds there's no case against you they'll give you a return ticket. The management's generally pretty liberal."
"Well, I must say," spluttered the Bishop, "that of all the brazen—unconscionable—!"
"Why did you raise the Spanish flag?" interrupted Miss Arminster.
"That was my idea," said the journalist, "and I'm rather proud of it. You see, we could hardly reverse the Union Jack as a sign of distress, and then go full speed ahead, but I don't think an American ship would resist taking a Spanish prize; and as soon as they get within firing range we'll run up a flag of truce. By the way," he continued, becoming quite courteous, now that he felt he had them in his power, "why do you remain in this stuffy cabin? I shall be very glad to have you up on deck, provided you'll give me your parole."
"What, not to escape?" asked Violet. "Did you think we were going to jump overboard and swim ashore?"
"No. I mean that you should give your parole not to be anything but Spaniards."
"I am afraid we couldn't manage that," she replied. "The Bishop doesn't look nearly ferocious enough."