"You treacherous, murderous scoundrel!" I cried. "How shall I deal
with you? You are as dangerous as a wild beast! If I were to beat your
brains out with the butt of this pistol I should only be treating you as
you deserve! And I will do it too as sure as you are lying there at my
mercy, unless you will swear by all you hold sacred that you will never
again attempt my life, and that you will set me ashore, free, at the
first port at which we touch. Will you swear that, or will you die?"
"I swear it, monsieur," he gasped. "Release my throat and let me rise,
and I swear to you by the Blessed Virgin that I will declare a truce in
your favour, and that you shall leave this ship as soon as a suitable
opportunity offers."
I relaxed my grasp upon his throat, and permitted him to regain his
feet, whereupon he looked at me for some moments with an expression of
surprise, not altogether unmingled, methought, with fear. Then, bowing
profoundly, he said:
"Leave me, monsieur, I beg of you. I will send for you again, a little
later."
I passed out of the cabin, and made my way up on to the poop, where I
found Monsieur Leroy, the chief mate, in charge of the watch. He nodded
to me as I ascended the poop ladder, and when I joined him in his fore-
and-aft promenade of the weather side of the deck, jerked his head
knowingly toward the skylight and remarked:
"In his tantrums _again_? Ah! quite as I expected. It is rather
unfortunate for you, monsieur, that you happen to be an Englishman, for
the mere mention of the word to him has the same effect as exhibiting a
red rag to a bull: it drives him perfectly frantic with rage."
"So it appears," remarked I dryly. "What is the cause of it? Have you
any idea?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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