Now, most providentially, before we left London, Brentin and I had gone off one morning to Clarkson’s, the wig-maker. It was quite possible, we had argued, we might have to fly, more or less closely pursued, and for that unpleasing eventuality had hired half a dozen wigs, among them two gray ones, for what are known, I believe, as “character old men.” I had at the same time bought a pair of gray whiskers, and, with my old regimental theatricals make-up box, packed them away, along with a quiet, elderly suit. I was always intrusted with the old men’s parts in our regimental theatricals, and invariably played them in a dress-coat, frilled shirt, and a bunch of seals with moiré antique ribbon, bending myself almost double and rapping with a crook stick in a manner so natural as to deceive even the men of my own company at the back of the hall. So that, unless I overacted, or a whisker came off, I felt pretty sure of not being recognized by comparative strangers.
The quiet elderly suit I rapidly dressed myself in, and with my mackintosh cape, an umbrella, and the make-up box under my arm, went back to the saloon.
I was so offended at their pusillanimity I would look at no one but Brentin, who, with glittering eye and long cigar, was jotting down the amounts of our capture on a piece of paper.
“You have given the necessary orders?” I asked him, coldly.
“Aye, aye, sir!” he sneered. “The yacht is now slowing down.”
Lucy had gone to her cabin with my sister, in great distress, and Miss Rybot was sitting there with arms folded, rubbing her silver pencil between her lips.
“Good-bye, Mr. Blacker,” she said, “and good luck to you. I admire your sense of loyalty. You are the only man among the party!” she was good enough to add.
“Pop, pop!” jeered the irrepressible Brentin.
Arthur Masters turned pale, and from a generous fear of making him feel his inferiority by my presence, I bowed to them all in silence, and went up on deck.
By this time the yacht had stopped, and off the port-beam I could just distinguish the dark woods of Cap Martin looming. It was about half-past eleven, and still slightly raining, though, fortunately, quite warm.