"Not in this ship," growled Brisson.
"Oh, I think so. Yonder is the port-hole, and there isn't very much distance between this boat and the shore. Also, there are other steamers lying at anchor close at hand. Not to speak of my boatman having been in a position to be spoken to from the port-hole. I could fire a shot or two and rouse the harbour, and I could have hailed my boatman before you sent him away. I did none of these things. And why? Because I am in the very position I wish to be in. Jadby is coming on board, and I want to meet Jadby."
"And to rescue the girl."
"To rescue the young lady," corrected Prelice coldly. "If you attempt to clear out with Miss Chent, I'll make it hot for you."
"What can you do?"
"What I said. I have my revolver. See!" Prelice whipped out his weapon before Brisson could move. "I have you covered. What is to prevent me from shooting you and racing on deck to swim ashore?"
The captain did not move a muscle. "You can put the gun down, my lord," said he, with a note of admiration in his voice. "I promise you that I won't steam for the Southern Cross until Madame gives the word."
"Madame won't come on board."
"Then I wait until she does," retorted Brisson. "Will you put that gun down, or am I to be shot?"
"You are more use to me alive than dead," said Prelice, and slipped his derringer behind him, handy for the grip; "but I see the tea is on the table. I'm infernally hungry."