"Ah!" said Day, looking at Mr. Morland.
"Good heavens, sir, would you take a common sailor's word before a doctor's?" I asked indignantly.
"No, Dr. Phillimore, I am only weighing the evidence," said he coolly. "This man was, according to you, delirious for a time. He made some communication as to a plot. Then he disappears. It is either conspiracy or delirium. Either accounts for the facts. Which are we to believe?"
"You forget the attempt on me," I said hotly.
"Not at all," he said, "I have not forgotten that—accident. But it hardly gets us further. It fits in with either supposition—the plot or"—he paused—"the delirium," he added significantly.
"Gentlemen, I wish you good night, or good morning," I said, turning on my heel. "And I will beg of you, Mr. Morland, to grant me the privilege of a substitute when we reach Buenos Ayres."
Mr. Morland did not answer. He made an impatient gesture, and then:
"Are you satisfied, Captain Day?" he asked.
"Quite," was the laconic answer.
"Then may I request you will see that discipline is kept among your men," said the Prince severely, and stalked out of the cabin.