"Time!" declared Fosterdyke.
Enrico Jaures positively beamed.
"Me no spik Englis," he babbled.
Sir Reginald eyed the accused sternly, but even his piercing glance seemed of no avail. The Rock Scorp continued to smile inanely.
"Take him away," ordered Fosterdyke with asperity.
He waited till the door had closed upon the involuntary guest, and then gave a deprecatory shrug.
"The fellow's scored this time, Bramsdean," he remarked, "but I'll get to windward of him yet."
[CHAPTER XI--"WITH INTENT"]
"Where are we now?" enquired Kenyon on returning to the navigation-room to relieve his chum as officer of the watch.
It was now twelve o'clock. Bramsdean had just "shot the sun" and was reading off the degrees, minutes, and seconds from the arc of the sextant.