Pontifex laughed. "Told you I'd make you talk, didn't I? We're off to sea at last, Cap'n, and I've got her aboard. Also, her husband—she'll be a widow early, won't she? That is, if you're still stubborn. Well, I told you that I expected to go Dumas père one better, by the aid of modern science; but, my dear Miles, we must continue to stick to the old novelist a little while. So you'll kindly answer in the usual way when I ask questions."
For a moment Pontifex puffed at his pipe. Then he took from the table another pipe, filled it with tobacco, lighted it, and placed it between the teeth of Hathaway.
"Now we'll have a friendly little chat over our 'baccy, eh? Real old sailormen, eh?" He chuckled with horrible mockery. "At four bells, Cap'n, they'll come in here and we'll hold a meeting of the directorate. The Hathaway Salvage Company—how's that, eh? Sorry you're out of it. Do you remember that time in Vladivostok, when you met me on the street and cursed me back and forth for marooning those deserters on an ice-floe? Well, I told you then that I'd get even, Miles. And now—she is at sea with me! Good joke, eh?"
The subtle horror-gleam in the eyes of Miles Hathaway was intensified. His massive face purpled, then paled again under its stubble of whitish beard.
"Bo'sun Joe slipped up in letting her get married," pursued Pontifex. "But we'll need her signature and that of her husband—or we'll so tell them. Savvy, Miles? We'll tell 'em that; we'll make it convincing, too. We'll make 'em quite certain that what we want is their signatures and their help. But you know better, Miles!
"Yes, you know better. You know that I had to get the girl in order to make you talk, blast you! That's why I spent money getting her. That's why I got her. As for Dennis, we'll get rid of him later. He doesn't count."
Again Pontifex resumed his pipe, puffing it alight. He spoke smilingly, now—an ugly smile that curved his lips. He leaned forward with a swift intent question.
"If it's hard to use your eyelids, Miles, answer with the pipe. Are you going to tell me where the John Simpson lays?"
Captain Hathaway sent a single spiral of smoke up-curling from his pipe.
"No?" Pontifex ceased to smile. "We've tried torturing you, Miles, and you're as stubborn a devil as I ever met. Do you want us to bring the girl in here and torture her—under your eyes? Hm! You remember Frenchy, who put the irons to your feet? Well—Frenchy has spoken for her. And Frenchy comes aboard at Unalaska.