Jerry looked at his guest and burst into deep-throated laughter.
"Well, for clean cheek!" he cried. "Do you think I'm going to tote you about in a yacht I don't own for the rest of my life?"
"Would you like to?" asked the collector, with a fresh aspect of interest. "Because in the Ægean Sea I've a"—
"Whatever it is, please keep it to yourself, or you'll insist that I promised to help you with it," interrupted Tab grimly. "As for going to England in the present case, that's quite out of the question. What are you going to do? If you stay on board, you'll land in Boston."
Mr. Wrenmarsh's face took on for an instant a look distinctly ugly. It suddenly occurred to Taberman that the collector was in rather an evil plight,—worse, indeed, than that from which the Merle had rescued him.
"Surely you're not serious?" Wrenmarsh asked slowly.
"I think I am," Jerry responded pleasantly. "What are you going to do?"
"Damn!" the other broke out explosively, lying back in his chair and running his fingers through his gray-sprinkled locks.
Jerry was too soft-hearted not to be touched by the other's perplexity, but an involuntary movement of sympathy which he made happened to give him a painful twinge in the arm, and he hardened his heart. There was a silence of some minutes, during which he tried to make out from the face of his companion what thoughts were passing behind that mask. Suddenly the cloud lifted from the face of Wrenmarsh, and he flashed a bright glance on Jerry.