"And what of it?" I demanded.
"'Twill be easy for you to slip down from the stern gallery."
"Never in the world!" quoth I.
"And as luck will have it, Martin, Bartlemy's Island—our island—lieth scarce eighty miles south-westerly. Being thither you shall come on our treasure by the aid of the chart I shall give you, and leaving the gold, take only the four coffers of jewels—"
"You waste your breath, Adam!"
"Then, shipmate, with these jewels aboard you shall stand away for another island that beareth south a day's sail—"
"Look you, Adam," says I, clenching my fists, "once and for all, I do not leave this ship, happen what may."
"Aye, but you will, shipmate."
"Ha, d'ye think to force me, then?"
"Not I, Martin, but circumstances shall."