Mr. Greenwood could be very obstinate when occasion arose. Having gone thus far, he was determined to see the business through in the manner he had intended.
"No, sir," he replied. "I do not want to run about after flag captains at this hour of the night. If you cannot see your way clear to accede to my request, the important matter of which I hinted must wait. The responsibility which is no light one—will be transferred to other shoulders."
It was the turn of the commander to be taken aback. He was not used to be talked to like this by civilians. He tried to fix the middle-aged gentleman with his best quarter-deck glare, but the darkness foiled him. Had he been able to see the dishevelled individual in the light he would doubtless have come to the conclusion that he was being tackled by a person with an unhinged mind.
"Very well—carry on," he exclaimed. "Here's the boat. Coxswain! assist this gentleman into the stern-sheets."
"And us, sir?" began the National Guard, but the naval officer "choked him off."
"No, no," he interrupted hurriedly. "I'll be responsible for your—er—prisoner."
Guided by the coxswain, Mr. Greenwood stepped off the quay into the stern-sheets of the picquet-boat. In fifteen seconds he found himself sandwiched between two young officers, while another half a dozen completely crowded out the strictly limited space.
The coxswain sounded a bell in the engine-room. The engines were reversed and the long, lean boat backed from the quay. Then, at full speed ahead, she glided rapidly, without lights, through the pitch dark waters of Auldhaig Harbour.