"The wind has dropped, absolutely?" he said. "Since when?"
"Half an hour ago. We are in port," said Landon. "We are ready to land, when you will."
The gray man smoothed the creases in his gray coat.
"When I will?" he repeated. "I am a prisoner—the captive of your bow and spear." He smiled with sombre sarcasm.
"That position is to be maintained?" asked Landon.
"Naturally. Your cousin may make my continued residence in Gibraltar well-nigh impossible, otherwise."
"My cousin?" Landon repeated the words with a certain doubtfulness. "He is my cousin," he said slowly, "and we sha'n't break one of his blood except in one way. It's the girl, remember, that is our strong suit. There's to be no bleating about that. To win, the trick has to be taken with her alone."
Miller nodded woodenly.
"If I had the inclination to interfere, I have not the power," he said. "Do you forget that I am a prisoner, like herself?"
"Yes," said Landon, and there was more than doubt in his expression this time, there was suspicion. "I forget it all the time. I want your assurance that you won't!"