in the man who had been heaving the lead came
aft to the ship's bell and struck ten quick strokes. He waited and
repeated the warning, but no one answered. They were alone in these
shallow channels. Fortunately the man faced forward, as sailors always
do by instinct, turning his back upon the Captain and Barebone.

The painter was cast off now and, under his elbow, Barebone was slowly
hauling in. The dinghy was heavy and the "Petite Jeanne" was moving
quickly through the water. Suddenly Barebone rose to his feet, hauled in
hand over hand, and when the dinghy was near enough, leaped across two
yards of water to her gunwale.

The Captain heard the thud of his feet on the thwart, and looking back
over his shoulder saw and understood in a flash of thought. But even
then he did not understand that Loo was aught else but a landsman
half-recovered from seasickness. He understood it a minute later,
however, when the brown sail ran up the mast and, holding the tiller
between his knees, Barebone hauled in the sheet hand over hand and
steered a course out to sea.

He looked back over the foot of the sail and waved his hand.

"Sans rancune!" he shouted. "C'est entendu!" The Captain's own words.

The "Petite Jeanne" was already round to the wind, and the Captain was
bellowing to his crew to trim the sails. It could scarcely be a chase,
for the huge deep-sea fishing-boat could sail half as fast again as her
own dinghy. The Captain gave his instructions with all the quickness of
his race, and the men were not slow to carry them out. The safe-keeping
of the prisoner had been made of personal advantage to each member of
the crew.

The Captain hailed Barebone with winged words which need not be set down
here, and explained to him the impossibility of escape.

"How can you--a landsman," he shouted, "hope to get away from us? Come
back and it shall be as you say, 'sans rancune.' Name of God! I bear you
no ill-will for making the attempt."

They were so close together that all on board the "Petite Jeanne" could
see Barebone laugh and shake his head. He knew that there was no gun on
board the fishing-boat. The lugger rushed on, sailing quicker, lying
up closer to the wind. She was within twenty yards of the little boat
now--would overhaul her in a minute.

But in an instant Barebone was round on the other tack, and the Captain
swore aloud, for he knew now that he was not dealing with a landsman.
The "Petite Jeanne" spun round almos