"I'll swear it is," said he. "Let's look at the bottle, Lane."
He solved his doubts, and drank and looked at his watch. "If they're coming, they should be here now."
"The weather's not going to save us," I observed bitterly; "she goes smoother."
It was true enough. The wind and the sea had both moderated. Barraclough examined the chambers of his revolver.
"Sir John Barraclough!"
A voice hailed us loudly from the deck. Sir John moved slowly to the door and turned back to look at us. In its way it was an invitation. He did not speak, but I think he invoked our aid, or at least our support, in that look. We followed.
"Yes," he called back, "I'm here."
"We've come for the answer," said the voice. "You've had plenty of time to turn it over. So what's it to be—the terms offered or war?"
"Is it Holgate?" said Lane in a whisper.
"Oh, it's Holgate, no doubt. Steady! Remember who has the treasure, Barraclough."