'Stemp.' [{421}]
'Yes, sir.'
'Take that man somewhere and shave him. Leave his moustache on.' Van Torp pointed to Kralinsky.
For once in his life Stemp gasped for breath. Kralinsky turned a greenish white, and seemed paralysed with rage.
'Take his beard off, sir, you mean?'
'Yes. Leave his moustache. Here, men,' added Van Torp, 'take that fellow outside and hold him down in a chair while Stemp shaves him. See?' The boatswain looked doubtful. 'He's pretending to be somebody he's not,' said Van Torp, 'on my ship, and I want to see his face. It's mutiny if you don't obey orders!'
'Aye, aye, sir,' responded the boatswain cheerfully, for he rather liked the job since there was a good reason for it.
But instead of going about his business gently, the Northumbrian giant suddenly dashed past Van Torp in a flash, and jumped and hurled himself head foremost at Kralinsky's legs, exactly as if he were diving. In the Count's violent fall the revolver he had drawn was thrown from his hand and went off in the air. The boatswain had seen it in time. The big man struggled a little, but the five seamen held him fast and carried him out kicking.
'Stemp.'
The valet was preparing to follow the prisoner, and was quite calm again.