“Gentlemen,” said Murch, as Pomfrett and I entered the lighted cabin, “let me present you to Mr Morgan Leroux, a gentleman-adventurer like yourselves.” There, indeed, was Morgan Leroux, in a fine suit of sable trimmed with scarlet, her bright black hair powdered white and tied in a queue. She leaned back in her chair and regarded Pomfrett’s solemn face with tranquil amusement.
“Mr Murch kept swearing he would have no trouble with women aboard his ship,” said she, with her customary frankness. “There can’t be any trouble now, can there?”
Before we turned in for the night Murch produced a document setting forth with all due prolixity how Brandon Pomfrett, gentleman, in respect of certain considerations, made over to Jevon Murch, gentleman, the snow Wheel of Fortune, and all, excepting personal effects, contained therein or properly belonging to her.
“Now,” says Murch, “you know me; anyone can under-run my cable—they’ll find it sound. This is a matter of form, to be executed in case a Queen’s ship runs us aboard and looks at the ship’s papers, or some such emergency. When we fall across Dawkins, I’ll engage to get your own ship back for you. Meanwhile, put your signature to that, and we’re all square and shipshape.”
Brandon considered the instrument with a doubtful eye. “You will understand, Mr Murch, I have my owners to consider,” says he. “As a matter of form, I think I should sign this when I’ve got my ship again, and not before. Your ship represents my owners’ security.”
“Does it?” Murch returned, grimly. “You may have overlooked the fact that this ship is mine already. And what about my security for salvage money? Have I insisted on that?”
Brandon was obliged to admit that point.
“It seems to me,” Murch went on, with massive deliberation, “that neither you nor I, Mr Pomfrett, would cut a hopeful figure in a court of law. No, sir. We’re outside the law, and must just conduct business as between gentlemen of for—of honour. And you might ask yourself, in a moment of leisure, what is to prevent Captain Murch from marooning two young gentlemen of your acquaintance on the next key?”
How much deeper Brandon would have plunged I know not, for at this moment Murch was called on deck.
“Now look you here, Brandon Pomfrett,” said Morgan Leroux, angrily, “if you will persist in running your head into the noose, you’ll be hanged at last, and I can’t save you. Can’t you see—oh, but men are stupid!—can’t you see Mr Murch has you in his hand? Signing all the documents in the world won’t leave you a ha’porth the worse; and if you anger Murch, he’ll toss you overboard. Why, what stops him now?”