The officer smiled.
“I cannot explain,” he said. “There was not time. I had work to do—a task that I had promised to fulfil, and we held on till it was forced upon me that I must get another vessel or stand with my men upon the deck and let our brave Roi Dagobert sink beneath our feet.”
“That wasn’t her name at Havre,” said the downright skipper.
“No, sir,” said the officer, smiling; “but were we not pursued? Would not news of our escape be sent far and wide? We were obliged to assume another disguise. The Jeanne d’Arc, we said, sank at Havre. That is the Roi Dagobert floating still; but for how long?”
“I don’t quite see that,” said the skipper bluntly.
“No?” said the officer. “Monsieur has never passed long years as a prisoner of war.”
“Well, no,” grunted the skipper. “Maybe that might have made me a bit shifty.”
“There, sir,” said the officer, turning now to Uncle Paul; “that is my excuse for this desperate venture—this attempt to seize your vessel. My business is urgent. I am a nobleman, a count of the French Empire, and I offer you any recompense you like to name if you will give up to me your vessel, leaving me full command for a week—a month—such time as I may need.”
“And if I say, sir, that I cannot accede to what you must own are wild demands,” said Uncle Paul, “what then?”
“What then?” said the officer slowly.