“Then here you have it, sir, plain. Your friend the Count is a Bony party, and as the French Government knew what game he was on and tried to stop him from running out of Havre, when he come upon us and found out what we were doing, ‘Here’s my man,’ he says; ‘I will just creep under his cloak and carry on my little game to carry off Bony. No one will suspect me if I am in good company, and on what he calls scientific research.’ Consekens, here’s you, sir, off the island of Saint Helena in co and company with this ’ere Bony party come to carry off and set free the man of all others you hate most in the world. Now you understand what you have come to do.”
“I’ll be hanged if I have!” cried the doctor, bringing his fist down with a tremendous thump upon the table, making one of the bottles leap up, fall over upon its side, and discharge its stopper at Rodd, who fielded it cleverly, though the contents—gelatinous infusoria and spirit of wine—were scattered all over the map.
“That’s spoke like you, sir,” cried the skipper; “but you needn’t have spoiled my chart.”
“Confound your chart, man! Here, Rodney, you hear all this? Do you think it’s true?”
“No, uncle, I can’t.”
“Neither can I, sir. I cannot. I will not. You, Captain Chubb, you mean well, I know, but— Oh, it’s outrageous! That I, Paul Robson, a man of my sentiments, should come to do such a disloyal thing as this—this—this—this treachery against my country and my King! Here, Captain Chubb, are you mad, or—”
“Drunk, sir? Say it out. I don’t mind. It does me good to see you come to your senses like this. Brayvo, sir! That’s the way to take it.”
“Oh, uncle!” panted Rodd.
“You let him alone, sir. He’s all right,” cried the skipper. “I’ve stuck the harpoon into him. You give him line, and you’ll see we shall have him in his flurry directly.”
“Stop, man! Where are your proofs?”