Barker drew it out of his pocket and handed it to Sir Reginald with the nearest approach to a grin that his swollen and bleeding features would permit.
“Bluff, Squire; pure bluff!” he remarked, as the baronet took it from him. “Nary a cartridge in it—couldn’t have raised one to save my life. But it answered just the same. Say, what air you going to do with me, eh?”
Sir Reginald dropped the revolver into his pocket without a word, and passed out of the cabin, closing and locking the door behind him. From there he went out on deck again, to find the remainder of the party busy upon the hoisting and securing of the second of the two boats. He helped them with the work; and then, with a brief word or two of heartfelt thanks to Mildmay and the others for the skill and resource by which they had all been enabled to get so cheaply out of such an ugly adventure, he retired below and joined his wife in Ida’s cabin, where mutual confidences were exchanged. The child was now awake and quite lively again; and, apart from her poor little chafed and swollen wrists and ankles, seemed little or nothing the worse for her share of the adventure. Satisfied, at length, of this, Sir Reginald retired to his cabin, discarded his saturated clothes, took a bath, and proceeded to dress for dinner.
That night, over the dinner-table, the question was raised of what should be done with the prisoner.
“Of course,” said Sir Reginald, “we could take him home with us, charge him with piracy, and get him punished. But that would involve just the publicity that, for many reasons, I desire to avoid. On the other hand, I have a very strong feeling that the fellow should be punished, not so much, perhaps, for what he has actually done, as for what, apparently, he was perfectly willing to do. What sort of a scheme he had in his mind when he plotted to steal this ship, it is very difficult to say, for I think we may take it for granted that he is absolutely ignorant of her diving and flying powers; but it is clear enough that, whatever his intentions may have been, he would have—indeed, did—unhesitatingly leave five of us to perish on that barren rock, which, he knew, afforded neither food nor water. It is this brutal indifference to the consequences, to others, of his nefarious scheme, that, to my mind, calls for punishment.”
“It would rightly serve him if you were to take him back and put him upon the place from which you rescued him,” suggested Sziszkinski.
“He would have no right to complain if we did,” answered Sir Reginald. “But that would be equivalent to passing a death-sentence upon him, for he could not exist there longer than a few days. No, I would not willingly compass the fellow’s death; I entertain no feeling of vindictiveness toward him. Punish him, however, I will, and that pretty severely, too, if only to deter him from engaging so light-heartedly in similar enterprises in the future; and I think that perhaps the case may be fitly met by marooning him on some suitable spot, where he can keep himself alive without too great difficulty, but from which he is not likely to effect his escape very readily.”
“Yes,” agreed Mildmay; “something of that sort ought to teach him a good, wholesome lesson. And there should be plenty of suitable spots not very far from here. We will have out the chart by-and-by, and see what it has to tell us.”
When, later in the evening, the chart of the Pacific was produced, it was found that the outlying islands of the Caroline group lay little more than three hundred miles to the northward of the spot at that moment occupied by the ship, and it was at once determined to try among them for a suitable marooning place. And, as Sir Reginald was quite naturally anxious to get rid of his prisoner as speedily as possible, von Schalckenberg descended to the engine-room and once more turned on the vapour. The Flying Fish then ascended to the neutral belt, and, heading due north, proceeded for three hours at full speed; at the expiration of which period her engines were stopped and she came to a halt for the remainder of the night.
The dawn was just tingeing the Eastern sky with pallor when Mildmay opened his eyes and, rising from his exceedingly comfortable bed, walked over to the port and looked out. Everything was still wrapped in darkness below him; but upon gazing steadfastly into the gloom for a few minutes, he believed that he could descry certain darker patches here and there, at no great distance, which ought to be—and doubtless were—islands. And thereupon he slid his feet into a pair of soft slippers and betook himself to the pilot-house, where, by the manipulation of certain valves, he lowered the ship to within some three hundred feet of the surface of the sea. He then proceeded outside to the deck, and carefully inspected his surroundings from that situation. The dawn was brightening fast, and objects below were beginning to show with some distinctness. Therefore, although the ship being afloat in the air, and her engines at rest, he felt no wind, the aspect of the sea beneath him, and the fact that the Flying Fish was perceptibly drifting to the southward and westward, told him that a brisk, north-easterly wind was blowing. At the much lower altitude at which the ship was now floating, the surrounding islets—there were three of them—showed to the eye at something very nearly approaching their correct distances apart, and in the fast-growing light something of their true character also stood revealed. Thus the solitary observer noted that while two of them, some six miles apart, were simply extensive reefs of bare coral rock, with a multitude of narrow, intricate channels of water running hither and thither through them, the third—some nine or ten miles to the southward—was an atoll of very similar character to that of the pearl-island which they had so abruptly left on the preceding day, but considerably larger, quite an extensive grove of coco-palms growing upon it. It had all the appearance of being a very suitable spot for the purpose that he had in his mind; and he therefore retired to the pilot-house, re-started the engines, and so headed the ship that she would pass over it. And when, presently, she reached it, he turned her head-to-wind, so adjusted the speed of her engines that she would just stem the breeze, and again went out on deck to reconnoitre. He now saw that the island beneath him was about two miles long by about half a mile in breadth, well clothed with grass, bushes, and some two or three hundred coco-palms; and that there was a rivulet of—presumably—fresh water bubbling up at one point and meandering down to the lagoon, which was a spacious one of about ten miles long by some seven miles broad, with a depth of water that appeared ample enough to float anything. The islet was also uninhabited; for he had a clear view of the whole of it, and could discover nothing that even remotely resembled a hut; no, not even with the aid of his binoculars. So, satisfied at length that he had found the kind of spot that Sir Reginald had in his mind’s eye, Mildmay took the ship over the lagoon, allowed her to settle gently into the placid water, and let go her anchor. Then, very well content with himself, he went below, took a bath, and dressed for the day.