“That’s the one, my lad! Well, I should have had that with me if it had not been for Mrs Bolter. I wanted to bring it, so as to collect a little, and she said it was folly, so I had to put it away. Have the others any arms?”
“Two apiece,” said Chumbley. “Fleshy.”
“And you can joke at a time like this?” exclaimed the doctor excitedly, while the swarthy steersman looked down at him wonderingly.
“Well, where’s the use of doing anything else about what was only a passing fancy on my part. Come, doctor, smoke your cigar in peace. Perhaps, after all, Murad means to be as amiable as host can be, and we shall all get back to the station, having found no worse enemies than the sun and the champagne.”
“Champagne? Nonsense, man. We shall have to drink palm wine.”
“Perhaps so; but I’ll make an affidavit, as the lawyers call it, that there are half a dozen cases on board with the brand Pfüngst, Épernay upon them, and—”
“Look—look!” exclaimed the doctor, laying his hand upon his companion’s arm.
“What—what at?” said Chumbley, coolly. “I don’t see anything dangerous.”
“Dangerous—no! Look at that tree laden with blossoms to the water’s edge.”
“Yes, I see it. Very pretty. Can you see a tiger’s nose poking through?”