“This, you sneaking Scotch sawbones!” and raising his cane Danvers struck the elder man a savage blow across the face.
In another moment Bruce had closed with him, wrenched the cane from his hand, and drawing back struck him between the eyes with such force that he was sent flying backwards off the verandah, to fall heavily upon the shrubs of the garden beneath, where he lay huddled up in a heap.
A score of people—white and coloured—rushed to the spot. Bruce, carefully standing the cane against the side of the lounge on which he had been reclining, walked down the steps and pushed his way into the little crowd surrounding the fallen man.
“Let me look at him,” he said, with grim humour, “as a medical man. I'm afraid I've hurt him more than I intended.”
The landlord joined them. “What is the matter, Doctor?”
“Nothing serious, Manton. Ye see, Captain Danvers rang that old gag on me about a surgical operation being necessary for a Scotsman to understand a joke; then I lost my temper and called him a fool, and he tickled me with his cane across my face, and I hit him harder than I intended. But he'll be all right soon. He's only stunned. Carry him into his room.”
Manton knew his business. “Just so, Doctor. I'll see to him. But he's given you a fearful bruise on your cheek.”
“A mere trifle, Manton,” and then without another word he returned to his seat on the lounge, not altogether satisfied with what had happened, and hoping that Danvers would at least have sense enough to corroborate the story he had told Manton as to the cause of the quarrel.
Between seven and eight o'clock Lester and Pedro Diaz came ashore, the Maritana being left in charge of the boatswain. By the judicious application of a strip of fresh goat's meat the long bruise on the doctor's cheek had almost disappeared, and he was in his usual placid mood.
“We're a bit too late,” remarked Lester, with a laugh, as he and Diaz shook hands; “why couldn't you wait? We heard that you had thrown the new chum Danvers over the verandah an hour or two ago.”