"I am a detective of the police force of New Zealand, and I have come from Auckland to arrest William Barton, alias the Rev. Wilfrid Lacy, on a charge of stealing twenty thousand, five hundred pounds from the National Bank of Christchurch, of which he was manager. I believe that twenty thousand pounds of the money he has stolen is on board this vessel at this moment, and I now demand access to his cabin."
"
Do you? How are you going to enforce your demand, my cocksure friend?"
Otway rose, and placing his two hands on the table, looked insultingly at the detective. "What rot you are talking, man!"
The detective drew back, alarmed and startled.
"The British Consul has endorsed my warrant to arrest this man," he said, "and it will go hard with any one who attempts to interfere with me in the performance of my duty."
Otway shot a quick, triumphant glance at the captain.
"The Consul is, and always was, a silly old ass. You have come on a fool's errand; and are going on the wrong tack by making threats. That idiotic warrant of yours is of no more use to you than a sheet of fly paper—Samoa is outside British jurisdiction. The High Commissioner for the Western Pacific would not have endorsed such a fool of a document, and I'll report the matter to him.... Now, sit down and tell me what you do want, and I'll try and help you all I can. But don't try to bluff us—it's only wasting your time. Steward, bring us something to drink."
As soon as the steward brought them "something to drink" Otway became deeply sympathetic with the detective, and Robertson, who knew his supercargo well, smiled inwardly at the manner he adopted.
"Now, just tell us, Mr.—O'Donovan, I think you said is your name—what is all the trouble? I need