"Oh, we won't go so far," said Skyrme with a look of amusement; "make the charge; we'll represent the court of justice. Barthelemy will be judge, we the sheriffs and constables. Bring forward the complaint, the court is open."
Rolls coldly averted his eyes without answering a syllable.
Scudamore, who was scanning every face with the crafty glance of a man who fears for his life, hastily interposed.
"You see, gentlemen, you see the contemptuous face with which he receives your offer, you see how proudly, how scornfully he looks down upon you, as if it would be a disgrace to him to recognize such worthy men as judges. Oh, I will submit to your sentence, I have no desire to stand before wiser, more just or more distinguished judges. I will tell with my own lips everything of which I am accused."
"I forbid you to do so!" cried Rolls vehemently.
"There, you see for yourselves, gentlemen. He wants to command here still, here, where you are the rightful possessors. He will not even permit me to repeat the charge against me! Very natural! He knows that he, and not I, will be condemned. So listen, gentlemen, listen, for what I have to tell is an important matter; my crime is that we were bringing huge bars of silver—"
"Ho! ho! that begins well," shouted Asphlant, craning his neck to hear better.
"On the way a storm rose, the ship sprung a leak, and the captain ordered all useless ballast to be thrown overboard. There was nothing left except the sick and the silver, and the question was which should be cast into the sea?"
"Well, and you, as the doctor, of course kept the sick," said Skyrme.
"No indeed, I kept the silver, and now Captain Rolls wants to punish me for it."