As they reached the deck the great liner was almost abreast of them, and gradually came to a standstill with clouds of pent-up steam pouring from her safety-valves.
"What do you want?" bawled her chief officer through a megaphone, his voice sounding very large and clear from the great height above them.
"We've two prisoners of war, Spanish spies, and we wish to hand them over!" shouted the mate in return.
"This isn't an American ship," came the reply.
"Yes, it is," howled Marchmont; "we know better! You belong to the 'Pink Star' line."
The chief officer conferred with the captain.
"It's Mason and Slidell the other way round," he said. "I wouldn't touch 'em with a ten-foot pole. Besides—" and here he seized the megaphone from his subordinate and yelled through it:
"You infernal idiots! don't you know the war with Spain is over? We've declared a truce!"
"I don't believe it,", cried Marchmont, shaking his fist at the great steamship in a paroxysm of disappointed rage. "It's only an excuse to shirk your duty! We've brought them out to you, and you've got to take them! I'll report you to the government! I'll—!"
The sharp ring of the engine-room bell from the liner's bridge was the only reply vouchsafed him, and a moment later the big ship forged ahead, her captain very red in the face and swearing like a trooper: for the most precious thing on board a racer of that class is time, and the "Homing Pigeon" had been wasting it.