"Come on, Wilton," I yelled, and, swinging back my siphon, I leaped forward to the attack.
It was too much for the enemy. However strong their affection for Sangatte may have been, they evidently had no stomach for further fighting, and with a simultaneous motion, they turned and bolted. As they disappeared down the corridor from which they had apparently emerged, I heard Billy's voice shouting my name from the deck.
I stepped back into the cabin.
"Time to go, Mercia," I said, holding out my hand.
She slipped her soft little fingers into mine, and as she did so, Sangatte, who had not moved since he had fallen, suddenly raised himself with an effort on to his elbow.
"Damn you!" he whispered thickly. "I'll be even with you for this—damn you both!" Then, with a groan, he sank back again on to the floor.
If it gave him any small pleasure to swear at us, I did not grudge it him—under the circumstances.
Our departure from the Seagull was distinctly more ceremonious than our arrival. By aid of his persuasive revolver, Billy had apparently induced the crew of the vessel to strike sail; for when we reached the deck, it was to find ourselves rocking idly on the bosom of the tide, with Cumming's smart little motor bobbing alongside. The three defeated hands, one of whom was the skipper, were clustered in the bows, watching Billy with anything but an affectionate expression.
"Not hurried you, Jack, I hope?" he called out, as we emerged from the companion, with Wilton guarding the rear.
"No, thank you, Billy," I said. "I'd quite finished."