“I give you my word of honor that you shall not be fired upon.”
“Very well, Governor. Here are the keys, and good-by.”
In the flurry of excitement over the yacht’s appearance, both Jack and Drummond had temporarily forgotten the existence of the tramp steamer the former had seen beating toward the rock.
Now Lamont suddenly recalled it.
“By the way, Governor,” he said, “the relief boat you so thoughtfully sent for is on her way here. She should reach the rock at almost any minute now. In fact, I fancy we’ve little time to waste if we want to avoid a brush. It would be a pity to be nabbed now at the eleventh hour. Good-by, once more.”
But the Governor had stepped between him and the boat.
“I—I am an old man,” he said, speaking with manifest embarrassment. “I was sent to take charge of this prison as punishment for refusing to join a Jew massacre plot. Governorship here means no more nor less than a life imprisonment. My wife and children are on a little estate of mine in Sweden. It is twelve years since I have seen them. I—”
“If this story is a ruse to detain us—”
“No! No!” protested the Governor, and there was no mistaking his pathetic, eager sincerity. “But—but I shall be shot—or locked in one of the cells and the water turned on—for letting you escape. Won’t you take me with you? I will work my passage. Take me as far as Stockholm. I shall be free there—free to join my wife and to live forever out of reach of the Grand Dukes. Take me—”
“Jump in!” ordered Jack, coming to a sudden resolution. “Heaven knows I would not condemn my worst enemy to a perpetual life on this rock. And you’ve been pretty decent to us, according to your lights. Jump aboard, we’ve no time to waste.”