"Too bad." Kirkwood's eyes narrowed. "You force me to harsher measures, Calendar."
Genuinely diverted, the adventurer laughed a second time, tipping back in his chair, his huge frame shaking with ponderous enjoyment. "Don't do anything you'd be sorry for," he parroted, sarcastical, the young man's recent admonition to the captain.
"No fear, Calendar. I'm just going to use my advantage, which you won't dispute,"—the pistol described an eloquent circle, gleaming in the lamplight—"to levy on you a little legitimate blackmail. Don't be alarmed; I shan't hit you any harder than I have to."
"What?" stammered Calendar, astonished. "What in hell are you driving at?"
"Recompense for my time and trouble. You've cost me a pretty penny, first and last, with your nasty little conspiracy—whatever it's all about. Now, needing the money, I purpose getting some of it back. I shan't precisely rob you, but this is a hold-up, all right.... Stryker," reproachfully, "I don't see my pearl pin."
"I got it 'ere," responded the sailor hastily, fumbling with his tie.
"Give it me, then." Kirkwood held out his hand and received the trinket. Then, moving over to the table, the young man, while abating nothing of his watchfulness, sorted out his belongings from the mass of odds and ends Stryker had disgorged. The tale of them was complete; the captain had obeyed him faithfully. Kirkwood looked up, pleased.
"Now see here, Calendar; this collection of truck that I was robbed of by this resurrected Joe Miller here, cost me upwards of a hundred and fifty. I'm going to sell it to you at a bargain—say fifty dollars, two hundred and fifty francs."
"The juice you are!" Calendar's eyes opened wide, partly in admiration. "D'you realize that this is next door to highway robbery, my young friend?"
"High-seas piracy, if you prefer," assented Kirkwood with entire equanimity. "I'm going to have the money, and you're going to give it up. The transaction by any name would smell no sweeter, Calendar. Come—fork over!"