“Put that down,” I shouted to the man. “If you don’t, I’ll fire.”
But he laughed mockingly.
Pointing the pistol over his head, I pulled the trigger. The bullet whizzed past his ear, and smashed the little square mirror that was hanging up behind where he was standing. The man dropped the bag, and drawing a knife, was in the act of rushing upon me, but one of his companions held him back.
“No,” cried the fellow who had grasped his arm. “Give him one more chance of life. If he hands over the bag to us, we’ll guarantee to land him at Wenduyne.”
“I sha’n’t give it up,” I replied in anger. “In the first place, you cowardly brutes have been caught in your own trap. There are no jewels inside, but stuff that you’d rather not have on board this craft. All that’s inside is dynamite!”
“Dynamite!” ejaculated the men, in alarm.
“Yes,” I replied. “Now, listen! You mistook your man. I’m not an absconding thief, as you thought; but, nevertheless, I mean that you shall take me to Wenduyne, and what’s more, land me there before sunrise. If you don’t, my mission will be useless. I’m tired of life, and if you fail to fulfil your contract, I shall touch the spring inside, and it will send us all to kingdom come. Now, you infernal cut-throats, do as you please. I shall remain here, and if you value your lives, you’ll carry out the agreement for which I’ve paid you.”
Then I unlocked the portmanteau, and showed them the box concealed inside.
My fierce, determined attitude cowed them. Like beaten dogs, they returned on deck without scarcely uttering a word.
The announcement that I had such a quantity of explosive had its effect, for, just as dawn was spreading, I was put ashore in a small boat upon a lonely part of the beach, about three miles north of Wenduyne, and directed to the road down which the diligence to Blankenberghe would pass.