The Bishop, noting the sheepish faces of the mate and his two fellow conspirators, and the lowering glances of the crew, turned to Miss Arminster, saying:
"We'd better return to the cabin, my dear. I think there's going to be trouble."
The little actress followed his Lordship's gaze, and descended without a word of protest. She thought so, too.
They had hardly entered the saloon, when there came a respectful knock at the door, and an elderly seaman entered, ducking his head.
"Well, my good man," said his Lordship, "what can I do for you?"
"Meanin' no disrespect, sir, be you really the Bishop of Blanford?"
"Certainly I am," that gentleman replied. "You see my dress, and," as a happy thought struck him, "here's one of my cards to prove my identity." And he handed the sailor a bit of pasteboard with his title engraved thereon.
"And the lady?" asked the seaman.
"The lady is no more connected with this absurd charge than I am," pursued the Bishop. "You've been grievously misled by your mate and these two strangers. But if you'll take us safe to the nearest port, I'll speak a word in your favour to your master, Lord Downton, who's an intimate friend of mine. Can you read?"
"Yes, your honour."