Mrs. Selborne seemed a little surprised at our position.
"We must get back to dinner," she said to the skipper.
"That'll be all right, ma'am," he answered.
"We must pay some attention to the conventions," she laughed, speaking to me in an undertone. "We couldn't plead foul weather as an excuse for being late, could we?"
"We started late, and it is our last sail," I said.
The skipper did not alter his course, and Mrs. Selborne lapsed into silence.
The comfort and laziness made her drowsy, I expect. I know they did me. I caught myself nodding more and more.
Suddenly there was a jerk, effectually rousing me from my nodding condition. I thought we had struck something. The next instant I rolled on my back. A rope was round my arms and legs. The skipper was still at the helm, and he smiled as one of the hands tied me up. The other hand was doing the same to Mrs. Selborne.
There was fear in her face; she tried to speak, but could not.
"What the devil is—"