"I should like to see the man," said the officer.
They entered the cabin, and there, sitting in the corner of the bunk, trembling, haggard, his face still quite white, save where it was smeared with blood, was the French sailor who had that day been tried for murder on the high seas, and been acquitted.
"I thought so," said the policeman. "It is the accused, Baptiste Liais. His case caused great excitement. The people are very bitter against him, for they all believe he was guilty. He is not safe in Rotterdam. We must find a way of getting him out of the country."
"You can leave him here for the present," said Carew. "I will see that the poor wretch is safe for the night."
"It is very generous of you, sir," exclaimed the astonished policeman; "but I think it is very unwise of you"—
"I am not afraid of him," interrupted Carew, in peremptory tones. "Leave him with me."
The officer shrugged his shoulders. He had always been taught to believe that Englishmen were eccentric creatures; so he went away and told his comrades that the owner of the yacht was a splendid specimen of the mad island race, and Carew and the Frenchman were left alone in the cabin facing one another.