“Here we are,” said he, making a pencil mark on the spot. “And here,” making another mark, “lies Christobal.”
“Why, Christoval Island lies in the Solomons,” said Harman. “I’ve been there.”
“I said Christobal, not Christoval. This is a German island, and a pretty rich one, too. I know it, and cause I have to know it, for a chap there named Sprengel let me down badly once over a deal. I hope he’s there still. It’s a rich island, lots of copra and trade. I’m going there.”
“And what are you going to do there?” asked Harman.
“Well, you see,” said the Captain, “the place is only just a trading station; it’s not armed; there are only half a dozen whites, and—I’m going to take it.”
“Take it?”
“Hoist the Union Jack there, scoop all the boodle I can find, up anchor, and bunk for Valparaiso. That’s my idea.”
“Lord, that would be lovely!” said Harman. “But suppose they show any sort of fight?”
“Not they. We’ll rig up a dummy gun, and we can arm a landing party with these blessed old rifles and cutlasses there. But the dummy guns will do them. You see, they won’t know what to make of the cut of the Penguin. They’ll never have seen a cable ship, most likely. We’ll tell them we are a volunteer cruiser. Good name, that.”