“It is impossible.”
“Wherefore?”
“Captain Vytal is one of the governor’s assistants. The desertion will be reported, and I, Sir Walter, answerable to the lords of her Majesty’s most honorable privy council.”
“Most honorable idiots!” exclaimed the other. “’Tis easily explained. They are lost—we have waited—we cannot find them—where are they? I see no sign whatever of the boat,” and, smiling yet more blandly, he turned his back to the bulwark. “It is as simple as that—just turn your back.”
“Before God, I will not!” and Simon started away, as if he would end the matter there and then.
“You find no difficulty in forsaking the fly-boat,” sneered St. Magil.
“Nay, for that at least can live. But this plaything must surely perish if deserted in so rough a sea.”
“No, Simon, it will gain the fly-boat.”
Ferdinando returned to the bulwark and looked down once more at the object of their discussion. He could see it battling now against great odds, for the shadow made no headway in any direction and both ships were slowly leaving it in their wake.
“Keep your purse. I’ll not play the assassin for you or any other man,” and again the master would have left. But he heard a quick step behind him, and turned suddenly. A slender gleam crossed his sight, and he felt himself pressed back against the bulwark. The menacing glimmer seemed to get into his eyes and into his soul, bringing terror to both.