out of the way
of the wet. He had piled it up forward. He had roughly tied up Pedro's
head. Pedro had nothing to grumble about. On the contrary, he ought to
be mighty thankful to him, Ricardo, for being alive at all.

"Well, now, let me give you a leg up, sir," he said cheerily to
his motionless principal in the stern-sheets. "All our troubles are
over--for a time, anyhow. Ain't it luck to find a white man on this
island? I would have just as soon expected to meet an angel from
heaven--eh, Mr. Jones? Now then--ready, sir? one, two, three, up you
go!"

Helped from below by Ricardo, and from above by the man more unexpected
than an angel, Mr. Jones scrambled up and stood on the wharf by the side
of Heyst. He swayed like a reed. The night descending on Samburan turned
into dense shadow the point of land and the wharf itself, and gave a
dark solidity to the unshimmering water extending to the last faint
trace of light away to the west. Heyst stared at the guests whom the
renounced world had sent him thus at the end of the day. The only other
vestige of light left on earth lurked in the hollows of the thin man's
eyes. They gleamed, mobile and languidly evasive. The eyelids fluttered.

"You are feeling weak," said Heyst.

"For the moment, a little," confessed the other.

With loud panting, Ricardo scrambled on his hands and knees upon the
wharf, energetic and unaided. He rose up at Heyst's elbow and stamped
his foot on the planks, with a sharp, provocative, double beat, such
as is heard sometimes in fencing-schools before the adversaries engage
their foils. Not that the renegade seaman Ricardo knew anything of
fencing. What he called "shooting-irons," were his weapons, or the still
less aristocratic knife, such as was even then ingeniously strapped
to his leg. He thought of it, at that moment. A swift stooping motion,
then, on the recovery, a ripping blow, a shove off the wharf, and no
noise except a splash in the water that would scarcely disturb the
silence. Heyst would have no time for a cry. It would be quick and neat,
and immensely in accord with Ricardo's humour. But he repressed this
gust of savagery. The job was not such a simple one. This piece had to
be played to another tune, and in much slower time. He returned to his
note of talkative simplicity.

"Ay; and I too don't feel as strong as I thought I was when the first
drink set me up. Great wonder-worker water is! And to get it right here
on the spot! It was