"Piracy!"
"Yes, sir. These are strangely troubled days. We've slumped morally.
Humanity has been on the big kill, with the result that the tablets of
Moses have been busted up something fierce. And here we are again, all
kotowing to the Golden Calf! All I need is your word--the word of a
Cleigh."
"I give it." Dennison gave his word so that he might be free to protect
the girl in the adjoining cabin. "But conditionally."
"Well?"
"That the young lady shall at all times be treated with the utmost
respect. You will have to kill me otherwise."
"These Cleighs! All right. That happens to be my own order to the crew.
Any man who breaks it will pay heavily."
"What's the game?" asked Dennison, rubbing his wrists tenderly while he
balanced unsteadily upon his aching legs.
"Later! I'll let Miss Norman out. That's so--her things are in the salon.
I'll get them, but I'll unlock her door first."
"What in heaven's name has happened?" asked Jane as she and Dennison stood
alone in the passage.
"The Lord knows!" gloomily. "But that scoundrel Cunningham has planted a
crew of his own on board, and we are all prisoners."
"Cunningham?"
"The chap with the limp."
"With the handsome face? But this is piracy!"
"About the size of it."
"Oh, I knew something was going to happen! But a pirate! Surely it must be
a joke?"
So it was--probably the most colossal joke that ever flowered in the mind
of a man. The devil must have shouted and the gods must have held their
sides, for it took either a devil or a god to understand the joke.