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me. I told my old man there was nothing in sight at sunset—and
no more there was. I believe you blundered upon us by chance—for all
your boasting about sunsets and bearings. Gammon! I know you came
on blindly on top of us, and with muffled oars, too. D'ye call that
decent?"
    "If I did muffle the oars it was for a good reason. I wanted to slip
past a cove where some native craft were moored. That was common
prudence in such a small boat, and not armed—as I am. I saw you right
enough, but I had no intention to startle anybody. Take my word for it."
    "I wish you had gone somewhere else," growled Shaw. "I hate to be put in
the wrong through accident and untruthfulness—there! Here's my old man
calling me—"
    He left the cabin hurriedly and soon afterward Lingard came down,
and sat again facing Carter across the table. His face was grave but
resolute.
    "We shall get the breeze directly," he said.
    "Then, sir," said Carter, getting up, "if you will give me back that
letter I shall go on cruising about here to speak some other ship. I
trust you will report us wherever you are going."
    "I am going to the yacht and I shall keep the letter," answered Lingard
with decision. "I know exactly where she is, and I must go to the rescue
of those people. It's most fortunate you've fallen in with me, Mr.
Carter. Fortunate for them and fortunate for me," he added in a lower
tone.
    "Yes," drawled Carter, reflectively. "There may be a tidy bit of salvage
money if you should get the vessel off, but I don't think you can do
much. I had better stay out here and try to speak some gunboat—"
    "You must come back to your ship with me," said Lingard,
authoritatively. "Never mind the gunboats."
    "That wouldn't be carrying out my orders," argued Carter. "I've got to
speak a homeward-bound ship or a man-of-war—that's plain enough. I am
not anxious to knock about for days in an open boat, but—let me fill my
fresh-water breaker, Captain, and I will be off."
    "Nonsense," said Lingard, sharply. "You've got to come with me to show
the place and—and help. I'll take your boat in tow."
    Carter did not seem convinced. Lingard laid a heavy hand on his
shoulder.
    "Look here, young fellow. I am Tom Lingard and there's not a white man
among these islands, and very few natives, that have not heard of me. My
luck brought you into my ship—and now I've got you, you must stay. You
must!"
    The last "must" burst out loud and sharp like a pistol-shot. Carter
stepped back.
    "Do you mean you would keep me by force?" he asked, startled.
    "Force," repeated Lingard. "It rests with you. I cannot let you speak
any vessel. Your yacht has gone ashore in a most inconvenient place—for
me; and with your boats sent off here and there, you would bring every
infernal gunboat buzzing to a spot that was as quiet and retired as the
heart of man could wish. You stranding just on that spot of the whole
coast was my bad luck. And that I could not help. You coming upon me
like this is my good luck. And that I hold!"
    He dropped his clenched fist, big and muscular, in the light of the
lamp on the black cloth, amongst the glitter of glasses, with the strong
fingers closed tight upon the firm flesh of the palm. He left it there
for a moment as if showing Carter that luck he was going to hold. And he
went on:
    "Do you know into what hornet's nest your stupid people have blundered?
How much d'ye think their lives are worth, just now? Not a brass
farthing if the breeze fails me for another twenty-four hours. You may
well open your eyes. It is so! And it may be too late now, while I am
arguing with you here."
    He tapped the table with his knuckles, and the glasses, waking up,
jingled a thin, plaintive finale to his speech. Carter stood leaning
against the sideboard. He was amazed by the unexpected turn of the
conversation; his jaw dropped slightly and his eyes never swerved for a
moment from Lingard's face. The silence in the cabin lasted only a few
seconds, but to Carter, who waited