"It's all right, sir; you're safe now," sounded from close behind, and Graeme and his prize were seized, hauled up and placed gently in the boat, a horrified "Gawd!" rising from the crew as they saw what Hector was holding in his arms. For, as he himself had said, it was only what was left of Hayward that had been saved from the seas.
"Let me go, blast you, let me go!" screamed Graeme, struggling with a burly sailor. "I've not begun on that shark yet, let me go!"
"Strike me, but you're a masterpiece!" muttered a voice. "It's no use, though, sir; the bastard's gone. Look," and a hand pointed to a black triangle, swiftly moving through the water a hundred yards away.
"'Ark, sir, to that," cried another; "they've seed you, sir, from the ship," and for a moment the creaking of the oars ceased, all listening to a dull roar rolling across the water from the motionless Dunrobin Castle. "They're cheering you, sir; blow me if we don't cheer too," and seven lusty voices set up an answering shout, Graeme the while sitting frowning at the still open knife in his hand.
"Spoilt it all," he muttered, "that devil getting off."
Back across the sea the boat went springing, and, as she neared the grey side, from the whole ship's company—crew, passengers, stewards, even the white-aproned and behatted cooks waving ladles and frying-pans—renewed cheering arose, and then suddenly was hushed, for the boat was now under their eyes and they saw the grim heap in its stern.
Up the lowered ladder went Graeme, the Captain himself standing at the gangway to meet him.
"You're a brave man, sir," he said; "it's not your fault it's been so ... little use."
Graeme said nothing, for again the ill-timed merriment was seething within him, and only with the greatest difficulty was held in check.
He hurried on, and then stopped, for Stara was before him, a new Stara to him, the grey eyes misty with tears and face white and quivering.