“My most valuable possessions! Oh, gracious!”
“What’s the matter now?”
“Oh, I feel seasick. I have a fearful attack of mal-de-mer.”
“Fight it off,” advised Ralph. “This is no time to be seasick. In a short time you may need all your strength.”
With another hollow groan the unhappy wretch dived below to carry out Ralph’s advice about saving his valuables. It was not long before he appeared on deck once more, staggering and moaning in a piteous manner to himself.
This time a flash of lightning gave Ralph an opportunity to observe that La Rue carried a slender black leather wallet, which he clasped as if it were something as precious to him as life itself. In the glare of the lightning, the man’s face was as white as chalk and his eyes blazed with a weird, unnatural light.
In spite of his momentary impulse of pity for the man, Ralph felt a wave of disgust for such a helpless craven sweep over him, as he watched him stagger up the steps to the bridge.
“Do you think there is a chance to save my life?” he stuttered out as he gained Ralph’s side.
“Impossible to say,” was the reply. “But see here, Hawke, you appear to think only of yourself. Haven’t you any concern for your companions below?”
“Never mind them,” cried La Rue, beside himself with fear by this time, for the storm had reached the height of its fury; “they are only understrappers, both of them. Do you see this case?” he continued wildly.