“What’s your idea?”
“We mustn’t drink this stuff.”
“Not drink it!” cried the outraged Harman. “And what on earth do you want it for if we ain’t to drink it?”
“Bait,” replied the other.
“Bait?”
“To catch Sprengel with. This is Lion brew Pilsener, and it’s a hundred to one, if he’s still on the island, he hasn’t any of this stuff with him. There’s no German born could withstand the temptation. It beats sausages.”
“Well,” said Harman, flying out like a child, “if I’d known you was going to collar the stuff like that I’d have drunk it before I called you. It ain’t fair. Here am I with my tongue hangin’ down to my heels for a drink, and there’s the stuff and the glasses and all. I’m not given to complain, but it’s too much. I’m speakin’ my mind now. It’s too much!”
“Can’t you understand that with this stuff I may be able to get the blighter on board,” said the Captain, “and if I once get him on board and down to this saloon the whole of the rest of the thing will be easy. If we try to rush the place with him on shore there may be blood spilled. With him a prisoner here there won’t be any resistance.
“I’ll take him those three bottles as a present, and then invite him on board with the promise of a case of it—d’ye see?”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Harman. “I’ll split the difference with you. Take him two bottles as a present, and we’ll drink the other.”