“No.”
“Did you feel under the seats?”
“Yes; there’s no one on this deck.”
“Did he go overboard?”
“No; he must have dodged us and dropped back from the rail.”
“Who was it? The doctor?”
“No; that whipper-snapper of a boy.”
“Oh, him. Well, then he’d better come out of his hole, wherever he is,” said Jarette loudly, speaking in very good English, though with a peculiar accent which sounded to me almost ferocious, as I hung there feeling as if I could not hold on much longer.
“Do you hear, boy? Come here, or I’ll send a bullet to fetch you.”
That man was not twenty feet below me, and as I strained my eyes to try and see whether he was watching me and taking aim, a curious creeping sensation ran over my body as if tiny fingers were touching me.