One—Strauss—was rigged out in a blue-serge suit with gilt buttons and a double line of gold braid round his cuffs. The other man was dressed in a pale-blue shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of canvas trousers.
"So you are recovering," observed Strauss in an almost faultless English accent.
Villiers tried to reply, but his parched throat gave no sound.
"Bring some brandy," ordered Strauss, turning to his subordinate.
The strong spirit had the effect of reviving Jack considerably. He found his tongue.
"Where am I?" he demanded.
"On the s.s. Zug," was the reply. "We picked you up seven miles south of St. Catherine's."
"Oh!" ejaculated Villiers, taken aback by this astonishing intelligence. "How——"
"Don't talk," protested Strauss, with mock sympathy. "You're very weak. I'll tell you. It was two days ago. We are bound from Malmo to Monte Video, and this is a Swedish ship. Two days ago, I say, we were standing down Channel when we sighted a ship's lifeboat drifting. We altered our course, and on approaching we found you lying unconscious on the stern-gratings. We did not touch at an English port, nor did we sight any vessel bound up-Channel; so it seems as if you must enjoy our hospitality until we reach Las Palmas."
"Haven't you wireless?" inquired Villiers.