“Look here,” said the red-haired man, walking over to him and emphasising his words with his forefinger against Timothy’s chest, “that kind of stuff doesn’t amuse me. If you lose your money, lose it like a sportsman and a gentleman, and don’t squeal.”
Timothy grinned.
“Boys,” he said, “I want four hundred pounds from you, so step lively.”
The suave Mr. Brown, who had been watching the scene with bored eyes, stroking his drooping moustache the while, made a gentle entrance into the conversation.
“I’m rather surprised, in fact, I am shocked, Mr. Anderson, that you should take this line,” he said. “You’ve lost your money fairly and squarely——”
“That’s where you’re lying,” said Timothy pleasantly. “Now, I’m telling you this. We’re very near the shore. Somewhere at the back of those warehouses there’s certain to be a police organisation and a well-paid magistrate. You are going to have a grand opportunity of appearing in the respectable part of the court as a prosecutor, for I’m going to beat you up—first you,” he pointed to the red-haired Chelwyn, “and then you.”
“You’re going to beat me up, are you?” said the red-haired man and made a quick dive.
It was not pretty to watch, unless you took an interest in fighting. They closed for a second and something jolted twice under Chelwyn’s jaw. He fell back against the cabin partition. He leapt again, but Timothy’s fist met him half-way, and he never really felt what hit him.
“I’ve won this fight,” said Timothy, “and I award myself a purse of four hundred pounds. Do you take any interest in these proceedings. Brown?”
The other man had not moved from his bunk, but now he rose and lifted his dazed companion to his feet.