“I think not,” Mr. Sabin answered. “I am inclined to think that I am perfectly safe. Will you try some of my salad?”
A look of admiration flashed for a moment across her face,
“You are a wonderful man,” she said softly. “No salad, thanks! I am too nervous to eat. Let us go on deck!”
Mr. Sabin rose, and carefully selected a cigarette.
“I can assure you,” he said, “that they are powerless to do anything except attempt to frighten Captain Ackinson. Of course they might succeed in that, but I don’t think it is likely. Let us go and hear what he has to say.”
Captain Ackinson was standing alone on the deck, watching the man-of-war’s boat which was being rapidly pulled towards the Calipha. He was obviously in a bad temper. There was a black frown upon his forehead which did not altogether disappear when he turned his head and saw them approaching.
“Are we arrested, Captain?” Mr. Sabin asked. “Why couldn’t they signal what they wanted?”
“Because they’re blistering idiots,” Captain Ackinson answered. “They blither me to stop, and I signalled back to ask their reason, and I’m dashed if they didn’t put a shot across my bows. As if I hadn’t lost enough time already without fooling.”
“Thanks to us, I am afraid, Captain,” Mrs. Watson put in.