“Near enough, but he’ll pull out.” “Are you going to take Miss Norman along?” “What, set her ashore to sic the British Navy 121 on us? I’m sorry. I don’t want her on board; but that was your play, not mine. You tried to double-cross me. But you need have no alarm. I will kill the man who touches her. You understand that, boys?” 121 The crew signified that the order was understood, though one of them—the returned Flint—smiled cynically. If Cunningham noted the smile he made no verbal comment upon it. “Weigh anchor, then! Look alive! The sooner we nose down to the delta the sooner we’ll have the proper sea room.” The crew scurried off, and almost at once came familiar sounds—the rattle of the anchor chain on the windlass, the creaking of pulley blocks as the launch came aboard, the thud of feet hither and yon as portables were stowed or lashed to the deck-house rail. For several minutes Cleigh and Cunningham remained speechless and motionless. “You get all the angles?” asked Cunningham, finally. “Some of them,” admitted Cleigh. “At any rate, enough to make you accept a bad situation with good grace?” “You’re a foolhardy man, Cunningham. Do you expect me to lie down when this play is over? I solemnly swear to you that I’ll spend the rest of my days hunting you down.” 122 122 “And I solemnly swear that you shan’t catch me. I’m through with the old game of playing the genie in the bottle for predatory millionaires. Henceforth I’m on my own. I’m romantic—yes, sir—I’m romantic from heel to cowlick; and now I’m going to give rein to this stifled longing.” “You will come to a halter round your neck. I have always paid your price on the nail, Cunningham.” “You had to. Hang it, passions are the very devil, aren’t they? Sooner or later one jumps upon your back and rides you like the Old Man of the Sea.” Cleigh heard the rumble of steam. “Objects of art!” went on Cunningham. “It eats into your vitals to hear that some rival has picked up a Correggio or an ancient Kirman or a bit of Persian plaque. You talk of halters. Lord lumme, how obliquely you look at facts! Take that royal Persian there—the
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