"Dickson major!"—Dickson major came out of the galley.
"Dickson max.!"—the elder brother sprang to attention also.
"John!"—I stood as stiffly as the rest.
"These men are under my orders, and they will go to death with me. You three are different. There is no time to explain everything now, but there is just a chance of saving this country from disaster. It is only a chance, mind. It is a forlorn hope. We may fail in half an hour: we may fail in twenty-four hours. In fact, it is almost certain that we shall. Still, are you coming?"
Well, of course there wasn't any palaver about that. It was settled in a minute. Then Bernard turned to old Murphy.
"Lieutenant," he said, "I am sorry that we are not going to have you with us, but you've got plenty to do ashore."
"I'm damned sorry too, sir, for, by George, I'd like to have a smack at 'em before I die!"
"You may yet. Now, please take your instructions. You know the marsh. Get off with Miss Joyce as quickly as possible. Take her to join her sister at the Morstone Arms. Then call up the coastguard for miles round. Come here to this Hulk—you won't see us in any case—and have the prisoners secured safely. Then send these despatches."
My brother sat down and began to write in cipher on leaves torn from his notebook. He looked up once.
"John," he said, "suppose you go up on deck with Doris. Make not the slightest noise, but make your adieux."