There was much truth in what he said. A blind man or a fool could see it.
“Let us swim to land and fight it out with our fists,” I proposed, remembering how I had overcome Albert, and confident that I could dispose of Chudleigh in similar fashion.
“Oh, no,” he said decidedly, “I am very comfortable where I am.”
“Then you like water better than most British officers,” I said.
“It has its uses,” he replied contentedly.
There was nothing more to do just then but to tread water and think.
“Come, come, captain,” I said after a while, “be reasonable. I’ve overtaken you. You can’t get away. Surrender like a gentleman, and let’s go ashore and dry ourselves. This water’s getting cold.”
“I see no reason why I should surrender,” he replied. “Besides, the water is no colder for you than it is for me.”
There was no answer to this logic. Moreover, what he said sounded like a challenge. So I set myself to thinking with more concentration than ever. There was another and longer interval of silence. I hoped that Whitestone or Adams would appear, but neither did so. After all, I had little right to expect either. We had left them far behind, and also we had changed our course. There was nothing to guide them.
I addressed myself once more to Chudleigh’s reason.