The Retriever’s life-boat had by this time brought Captain Link alongside the lugger, and he quickly sprang on deck. The meeting there was naturally one of great cordiality.
During their hasty consultation, the balloon had risen clear of all surrounding obstacles to the full length of the grapnel rope, and was swaying over towards the steamer’s stern. But the crew gradually hauled in the rope, in accordance with Trigger’s instructions, while he opened the top valve.
“So I have just arrived in time to give you a lift into Cherbourg, my dear Goodall,” said Link, “but we must take this fellow Croft on board at once. Here, Warner, you had better take off these handcuffs; the fellow’s arms seem injured, though not fractured, I think. He can’t escape, you know. How about this other man?” added Captain Link, who did not like the look of the Anarchist, and thought that as he had been warmly peppered in the legs and back by Trigger’s dust shot, he might be left behind.
“He stay wid me,” cried the skipper. “You no punish him more.”
“I have a second warrant,” said Warner, who now had Croft in the boat.
“Oui, oui,” said the skipper, “but not for my contreeman.”
“I only wish I could meet with Croft’s master; I’ve a word or two to say to him,” said the detective.
“Eh, vat you mean—Croft’s master? Is it Maester Fallcone you mean?” asked the skipper.
“You shut up, skipper,” cried Croft, with a murderous expression of face. “You have too long a tongue.”
“Hadn’t the skipper better come along with us on board the Retriever and explain matters?” said Captain Link.