He stepped forward to shake hands with Mercia. "And how's our host?" he inquired.
"Our host," I replied, "when he's patched up, will probably be mistaken for Señor Guarez."
Billy nodded his head. "You were always a good hand at scattering keepsakes," he observed contentedly.
It was at this point that Cumming's face, appearing over the side of the yacht, inquired with some pathos what time we should want the cab.
"I suppose we must tear ourselves away," said Billy reluctantly. "It's a pity, though. I was just beginning to enjoy myself. Devilish smart crew Sangatte's got—when they're properly handled."
Despite this handsome compliment, the crew betrayed no particular signs of regret at our departure. They watched with sullen hostility while I lowered Mercia into the hands of Cumming and then jumped down myself after her. Then, pushing away the launch with the boat-hook, we backed slowly astern, until there was sufficient room to swing her round towards the shore. A moment later we were racing back against the wind and tide, while behind us the Seagull still drifted idly down the centre of the stream.
A few hastily-exchanged explanations showed us that Billy had been quite right in his surmises as to Mercia's adventure. By a cleverly-worded letter, hinting that he was prepared to give evidence on my behalf, Sangatte had induced her to come and visit him at his house. Here, after expressing himself as being convinced of my innocence, he had offered to drive her down to the court; and Mercia, suspecting nothing of his purpose, had readily assented. Once inside the big, swiftly-moving limousine, it had been hopeless to try and escape until Burnham was reached, and then, just before the car drew up, Sangatte had thrust a handkerchief soaked in chloroform over her face, which had rendered her practically unconscious until she was safely in the ship's boat.
That was the only actual violence she had suffered from. Once on board, Sangatte, who possessed an abnormal opinion as to his own fascinations, had adopted the role of the impassioned, half-repentant lover, whose emotions had run away with him. I suppose he had thought that his own charms, combined with the hopelessly compromising position in which Mercia was placed, would be a sufficiently strong combination to effect his purpose. Anyhow, he had been giving this ingenious system a fair trial when Fate and my right fist had so unexpectedly intervened.
Such was Mercia's story, whispered out hurriedly as we throbbed our way back up the grey waters of the Crouch.
In return, Billy and I told her as briefly as possible of the amazing sequence of events which had led up to our arrival on board. The astonished Cumming, who now for the first time realised our identity, listened with such spellbound attention that on two occasions he as nearly as possible ran us on to the shallows.