Peter glanced down between his feet, and saw two swarthy Lascars climbing the rigging like cats. Lower still, he had a bird's-eye view of the deck, about which his enemies were posted in readiness for his arrival: the Manager exhibiting his spiked boots to Sir William, who shook his head in mild deprecation; the old lady brandishing her sunshade in angry denunciation, while her brother flourished his horsewhip; and Alfred stood covering him with his revolver, prepared to pick him off the instant he came within range! And Peter hung there by his hands--for his feet had slipped out of the ratlins--as helpless a target as any innocent bottle in a shooting-gallery, and the Lascars were getting nearer and nearer! He could see their bilious eyeballs, and their teeth gleaming in their dusky faces. He felt a bony hand reaching for his ankles, and then a dizziness came over him: his grip upon the coarse, tarry cordage relaxed, and, shutting his eyes, he fell--down--down--down. Would the fall never come to an end? Would he never arrive?... CHAPTER X. Dénoûment. At last! The shock was over; and he feebly opened his eyes once more, to find that he was undoubtedly on the deck; and, yes, the Bank Manager was standing over him with a kind of triumphant grin! "Mercy!" Peter murmured faintly. "You--you surely wouldn't kick a man when he's down!" "My dear sir!" protested the Manager, "why should I wish to kick you in _any_ position?" He must be fatally injured, if even the Manager had relented! "Is--is Alfred there?" asked Tourmalin, anxiously. "Keep him away, if you can!" "Certainly!" said Mr. Perkins. "Who _is_ Alfred?" "Why, the--the man with the revolver. I thought you knew!" "Come, come," said the Manager, "there's no man of that kind here, I assure you. Pull yourself together, sir; you're on board the _Boomerang_ now!" "I know," said Peter, dolefully,--"I know I am!" He shut his eyes resignedly. He was about to receive some other portion of his time-balance. If he could only hope that no fresh complications would arise! Would he meet Miss Tyrrell or Miss Davenport next, he wondered, and how would they behave? "Haven't you had sleep enough yet?" said the Manager. "You're not more than half-awake even now!" "Sleep?" exclaimed Tourmalin, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Why, you don't mean to tell me I've been dreaming all this time!" "I don't know about dreaming; but I can answer for your snoring. Why, you almost drowned the ship's band! I knew what would happen when you _would_ have two helpings of curry at breakfast. Worst thing to take in the world, especially if you don't walk it off! Why, you've been the joke of the whole ship for the last half-hour. I wish you could have seen yourself, with your head hanging over the arm of your chair and your mouth wide open! I thought at last it was only kind to wake you up. Those two young ladies over there have been in fits of laughter!"