“But my gun—I mean Mr Reardon’s?”
“In the stern-sheets, with plenty of cartridges. Where’s Ching?”
“I don’t—down below, I suppose.”
“Fetch him up; we’re off at once.”
There was no need, for the interpreter appeared smiling and happy, looking as if he had not passed through such a terrible ordeal a short time before.
The captain and Mr Reardon came up then.
“Ready, Mr Brooke?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Order the crew into the boat, Mr Reardon.”
As the men sprang in, the captain came close to us.