Norton hesitated. As lithe as a tiger the bulk of a man sprang at him and crushed him to the floor, wrenching away the spanner. Then the giant took Norton by the scruff of his neck and banged him up the steps to the deck. "I ain't goin' t' hurt ye. I had t' show ye that no spanner ever bothered Mike Bannock. Now, d' know what a cook's galley is?" [Illustration: "I AIN'T GOIN' T' HURT YE"] "I do," said Norton, breathing hard. "Well, hike there an' start in with peelin' spuds, an' don't waste 'em neither. That'll be all fer th' present. Ye were due for a wallopin' but I kinda like yer spunk." So Jim stumbled down to the cook's galley and grimly set to work at the potatoes. It might have been far worse. But here he was, likely to be on the high seas for months, and no way of notifying Jones what had happened. The outlook was anything but cheerful. But a vague hope awoke in his heart. If they were still after him might it not signify that Florence lived. Meantime Braine had not been idle. According to Vroon the girl's memory was in bad shape; so he had not the least doubt of bringing her back to New York without mishap. Once he had her there the game would begin in earnest. He played his cards exceedingly well. Steaming up into the little fishing harbor with a handsome yacht in itself would allay any distrust. And he wore a capital disguise, too. Everything went well till he laid his hand on Florence's shoulder. She gave a startled cry and ran over to Barnes, clinging to him wildly. "No, no!" she cried. "Now what, my child?" asked the sailor. She shook her head. Her aversion was inexplicable. "Come, my dear; can't you see that it is your father?" Braine turned to the captain. "She has been like this for a year. Heaven knows if she'll ever be in her right mind again," sadly. "I was giving her an ocean voyage, with the kindest nurses possible, and yet she jumped overboard. Come, Florence." The girl wrapped her arms all the tighter around Barnes' neck. An idea came into the old sailor's head. "Of course, sir, ye've got proof thet she's your daughter?" "Proof?" Braine was taken aback. "Yes; somethin' t' prove that you're her father. I got skinned out of a sloop once because I took a man's word at its face value. Black an' white, an' on paper, says I, hereafter." "But I never thought of such a thing," protested Braine, beginning to lose his patience. "I can't risk sending to New York for documents. She is my daughter, and you will find it will not pay to take this peculiar stand." "In black an' white, 'r y' can't have her." Braine thereupon rushed forward to seize Florence. Barnes swung Florence behind him. "I guess she'll stay here a leetle longer, sir." Time was vital, and this obstinacy made Braine furious. He reached again for Florence. "Clear out o' here, 'r show your authority," growled Barnes. "She goes with me, or you'll regret it."