“Turn back!” snarled Brentin. “This vessel is mine and under my orders. There will be no turning back, except over my dead body; and that’s all there is to it! Come, gentlemen,” he cried, impatiently, “resoom the counting.”
And such was their incredible baseness that they actually began counting again, just as though poor Teddy Parsons had never been born. Only the ladies looked shocked, while Lucy kept her frightened eyes fixed on my face. As for me, my mind was soon made up.
“Well,” I said, resolutely, “if you won’t any of you come, I shall go back alone.”
“What’s the matter with walking on the waters?” sneered Brentin.
“In a few moments,” I continued, “we shall be off Cap Martin. Mr. Brentin, you will be good enough to give orders to have me put ashore there.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” he jeered.
“I shall make my way back to Monte Carlo alone—alone!” I cried, with pathetic emphasis, “and not rest till I have discovered what has become of our poor lost friend.”
“As you please,” said Brentin, sharply; “only if you are caught you mustn’t expect any one of us to come to your rescue. It’s simply sending good money after bad.”
Poor Lucy began to cry as, before leaving the saloon, I turned to them and fired my parting shot. I forget now precisely what it was, but I know it was both dignified and touching; feeling, as I did, rather more sorry for myself than even for poor Teddy. But it had no effect whatever in rousing any of them to accompany me on my perilous journey.
Then I went back to my cabin to change my clothes, for I was still in my smoking-suit with the torn pocket, and, so attired, could scarcely venture ashore. Disguise of some sort was clearly imperative before trusting myself again on the scene of our so recent successful labors.