"I don't believe you when you say that I was here with you yesterday," was Gerald's frank reply.
"No, because your brain is addled," laughed Bowden deeply, knocking the ashes from his pipe. At that moment the ship's bell clanged loudly, marking the time. It was eleven o'clock in the forenoon.
"Yes, it is addled, I admit," said Durrant. "I've been the victim of a foul plot. I—well, let me tell you."
"Oh! I don't want to hear it all over again. You've already told me twice how you assisted two ladies in Kensington, how they took you to their house, and gave you a dose of drug. Then, how you found yourself imprisoned in a house, and all that long rigmarole. Spare me again—won't you?" the captain begged.
Durrant stood aghast.
"But I've never told you anything about it!" he said. "I've never told a living soul about my strange adventure."
"Look here, Mr. Simpson," said the captain, rising from his chair with slow deliberation. "I'm beginning to think that you're not quite in your right senses. You told us all about it last night in this very cabin—how you had been entrapped, drugged, and taken away."
"Yes. That is quite true, but I have never told anyone of it."
"Well, the less you say about that affair the better, I think. Nobody will believe you."
"But don't you think I'm telling the truth?"