"Lache. Infame! It was not my affair," he said in French.
After that there was silence, until a tramp of feet grew nearer, and a murmur rose from the anxious men when a voice came out of the darkness hoarse and exultant, "We've got him."
Then, with Montreal and another man in front of them, the sealers came in, and there was once more a murmur when the first two stopped close by Jordan, who held out his hand.
"And you're Tom Allardyce?" he said.
The man's hand seemed to shake as he grasped the skipper's, and his eyes grew a trifle hazy when the rest grinned at him encouragingly and Montreal patted his shoulder.
"Yes," he said. "I was cast away up here 'most two years ago."
"Sit down," said Jordan quietly, with a glance at the Russian officer. "Tell us all about it. Don't worry, and go slow. I've a reason for wanting to know."
The man sat down, and there was another little murmur when the sealers saw his lined and haggard face, for there was on it the stamp of hunger and suffering. His hands were clawlike, and there was a great scar upon his forehead.
"It's good to see you, boys," he said, and his voice died away hoarsely. Then he turned to Jordan. "You're going to take me back with you?"
Jordan laughed a little. "Oh, yes," he said. "Look at the boys. I guess they're not going to let me leave you, if I wanted to."