“On no account whatever, monsieur,” answered the captain, hiding his chagrin in a grim smile. “You are doubtless as eager as I am to proceed. I have, therefore, the honour to bid you a very good morning!”
And therewith, bowing low, he turned and passed through the gangway, down the ladder, and so into his boat, which a few minutes later was once more dangling at the davits of the convict-ship, while Count Vasilovich was being inducted into his new quarters among his fellow convicts.
Chapter Nine.
Colonel Sziszkinski joins the Party.
Meanwhile, during the progress of the foregoing scene, Colonel Sziszkinski, so full of amazement at what was transpiring that he found it difficult to persuade himself that he was not the victim of some fantastic hallucination, stood silent and watchful where he had first halted upon the deck of the Flying Fish. He had, of course, upon the instant of his arrival, recognised among the strangers who, for some mysterious reason, were thus interfering with his affairs, the somewhat remarkable personality of his old friend von Schalckenberg, and he was also aware, from the exclamation of the professor, that the latter had recognised him. But the colonel had recently, in the course of his prison experience, undergone a course of hard discipline that had speedily impressed upon him the wisdom of keeping his eyes wide open and his mouth close shut until he was absolutely sure of all the details of any situation in which he might find himself. Moreover, he had observed that, although von Schalckenberg had unquestionably recognised him, the professor had vouchsafed no sign indicative of the existence of such a sentiment as friendship for him. So, believing that there was doubtless good reason for this, he remained an impassive but none the less profoundly interested spectator of what was happening. But no sooner were Captain Popovski and his satellites fairly clear of the Flying Fish than von Schalckenberg darted forward and, seizing the colonel by both hands, while his eyes beamed ardent friendship through the lenses of his gold-rimmed spectacles, exclaimed—
“Ach! mein friend, now that that prying Russian has gone we may act and speak freely! Welcome, thrice welcome, my dear Boris; and all hearty congratulations on your escape from a fate that, to a high-spirited fellow like yourself, would have been far worse than death. But come and let me present you to my friends. This,”—indicating the baronet, who, seeing that he was no longer needed behind the Maxim, came sauntering up—“is Sir Reginald Elphinstone, an Englishman, and the owner of this good ship, the Flying Fish. You have to thank your daughter first, and Sir Reginald next, for your deliverance from the hold of yonder convict-ship. This is Colonel Lethbridge, late of the British Army; and this is Captain Mildmay, whose retirement from the British Navy has deprived his country of the services of one of her most brilliant sailors. This, gentlemen,” he continued, “is my very excellent friend, Colonel Sziszkinski, one of the Tsar’s most faithful and zealous officers, had his Majesty but known it!”
The party shook hands all round, and Sir Reginald, in a few well-chosen words, bade the newcomer heartily welcome to the unique shelter afforded by the Flying Fish for as long a time as he chose to avail himself of it. Then the baronet led the way below, saying to his guest—
“Let me conduct you down into the saloon. I rather fancy you will find a quite agreeable little surprise awaiting you there.”