"Several things." Mr. Heatherbloom's own eyes were keen as darts. "First, you will give orders that the Nevski is to change her course—to head for the nearest American port."
"Impossible!" the prince exclaimed violently.
"On the contrary, it is quite possible. We have the fuel, as I can testify."
His excellency's thoughts ran riot; it was difficult to collect them, with that aching head. The fellow must be crazy; people of his class usually are, more or less, though they generally displayed a certain method in their madness, while this one—
"I must remind your excellency that time is of every importance to me," murmured Mr. Heatherbloom. "Hence, you will do what I ask, at once, or—"
"Very well." His excellency spoke quickly—too quickly. "I'll give the order." And, rising, he started toward the door.
"Stop!"
The prince did. Venom and apprehension mingled in his look. Mr. Heatherbloom made a gesture. "You will give the order; but here—and as I direct." His voice was cold as the gleaming barrel. "That 'phone," indicating one on the wall, "connects with the bridge, of course. Don't deny. It will be useless."
His excellency didn't deny; he had a suspicion of what was coming.
"You will call up the officer in command on the bridge and give him the order to make at once for the nearest American port. You will ask him how far it is and how soon we can get there? Beyond that, you will say nothing, make no explanations, or utter a single superfluous word."