I strove to rise and struck my chest against a board. I was conscious of a rhythmic motion, and a dull, squeaky sound, repeated without cessation. My senses cleared. I turned my head. I was lying under a seat in one of the life-boats and the boat was being rushed onward under the impulse of eagerly pulled oars.
“What’s this?” I groaned. “What sort of an outrage is this?”
I twisted myself from under the seat and sat up, looking around for the yacht. There was no sight of it. There was no sight of anything but water and steep hills, and the second life-boat closely following us. We were pulling up a narrow, winding bay. Its width was fairly uniform, probably a hundred yards. Its water was pure blue. And on both sides, and before and behind us, rose the craggy, fir-clad hills, approaching the size of mountains, shutting us out from all the rest of the world.
“Sit down, Mr. Pitt; it is more comfortable.” From the bow Brack spoke, and I turned upon him.
“What do you mean?” I began, and there I stopped.
For, though Brack spoke in laughing fashion, there was no laughter about his lips, none in his eyes. His face was set like a bronze mask, his mouth was scarcely visible, his eyes shone hard and fiery between slitted lids. Brack had ceased to pretend; the brute in him was having its way, and he didn’t care who saw it.
“You would better have slept soundly this morning, Mr. Pitt,” he said. “If your foolish fight delayed us too long—you will soon know why.”
“I want to know why right now!” I cried, in spite of the terror that his face inspired. “You’ve assaulted me; you’ve taken me off the yacht by force. You’ll pay for this when we get back home.”
“Suppose,” said he musingly, “suppose you should never get back home?”
His tone, not his words, froze me. I could not speak. I looked at the faces of the men who were rowing furiously, at Garvin. And I looked at the cold blue water through which we were speeding and knew it was no more remorseless than the men in that boat.