"A bad case," he muttered. "Look at the pupils of his eyes. If that man doesn't sleep before long he will be a raving maniac. But it is not too late to save him if he is properly looked after. I don't envy his feelings when he comes to himself. What a pity it was you didn't warn me about this, so that I could have brought my drugs with me."
"I am sorry," Grey murmured. "But what are we going to do? There is little to be gained by hanging about like this."
There was nothing for it but strong measures. And, despite his struggles and protestations, Swift was carried to the boat, shouting and singing as he went. Fortunately, it was a quiet spot, and there was not much chance of attracting the attention of the passers-by. But Grey drew a deep breath of relief when the boat touched the yacht side and Swift was hauled unceremoniously aboard. A few minutes later Tanza got to work with his drugs and hypodermic syringe, and gradually Swift's cries and protestations died away. The dilation of his pupils narrowed and lessened. The wild look on his face gave place to a more placid expression, then by degrees his breathing grew more regular, his head fell forward on his breast, and he slept. Tanza watched him with satisfaction.
"That's all right," he said. "Now let us get the poor fellow to bed. He is not likely to wake for eight or ten hours, and when he does so I don't envy his feelings. I daresay I can keep him in hand with a judicious application of drugs. But the pity of it, my dear fellow, the pity of it! Fancy talent like that being frittered away in this foolish fashion. Upon my word, I had a great mind to devote the best part of six months to Swift's mental regeneration. I think it would be worth the trouble, and he could repay me by initiating me into those scientific mysteries so essential to the pursuit of my hobby."
"I wish you would," Grey murmured. "I am sure that Swift would do you credit. It isn't as if the poor chap had a natural weakness for drink; but he has no friends and he has drifted into this terrible habit. It is a good thing you have a crew you can rely upon. Otherwise we should have been hard put to it to carry this daring scheme into execution. Now let us get this fellow to bed and send for Bark."
Swift was put to bed at once and Bark fetched. A grinning sailor came up in response to Tanza's summons with the information that Bark was in a state of furious indignation and demanded to be released without delay.
"He seems to be annoyed, then?" Tanza asked pleasantly.
"Carrying on something awful, sir," the grinning sailor responded. "But, seeing as the orders were yours, we just let him talk and took no notice. Do you want him here, sir? Certainly, sir."
The sailor vanished, and a moment later a pair of unseen hands pushed Bark violently into the cabin. He came in staggering and rolling, making, however, some attempt at dignity, which was lost upon his captors. Tanza closed the door and turned the key in the lock. Then he wheeled round and faced the infuriated Bark, who stammered and stuttered with rage.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Why this outrage? Why couldn't you have sent for me as a gentleman would have done? Am I a free British subject, or am I not?"