“What right have you on this boat?” she demanded fiercely.
“The right of any pirate.”
“Why do you intrude—how dare you—at least, I don’t understand——”
“I have taken this ship, Helena,” said I, “because it carries treasure—more than you know of, more than I dreamed. My father was a pirate, I am well assured by the public prints. So am I. ’Tis in the blood. But do not anger me. Rather, have a cup of tea.” John, my cook, was now at the door with the tray.
“Thank you,” rejoined Helena icily. “It would hardly be courteous to Mr. Davidson—to use his servants and his table in this way in his absence. Besides——”
“Besides, I recalled that your Aunt Lucinda’s neuralgia is always benefited by a glass or so of ninety-three at about ten thirty of the evening. John!”
“Lessah!”
“Go to the left-hand locker in B; and bring me a bottle of the ninety-three. I think you will find that better than this absurd German champagne which I see yon varlet has been offering you, my dear Mrs. Daniver. But—excuse me——”
Helena looked up, innocently.
“—A moment before there were six empty bottles on the table there. And I saw you writing. How many have you thrown overboard through the port-hole?”