“But pray do not trouble to give me your card!  I had rather say adieu to Monsieur the Unknown, whose daring and temper I so much admire.  But I certainly misunderstood your violent remark a moment ago, did I not?  You can not possibly have any ground of quarrel with me.”

“I thought you stole my money-belt.”

Monsieur smiled and waved a deprecatory hand.  “You have already dismissed that idea, I am certain.  A money-belt, between gentlemen!  Moreover, you should thank me for so much as recognizing the gentleman in you, since you are without the customary trappings of our class.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Jim.  But Monsieur Chatelard was now imperturbable.  He continued blandly: 

“Since you are fond of sea-baths, you will no doubt enjoy a plunge—­to-night possibly.  As we have made rather slow progress, we are really not so far from shore.  Yes, on second thought, I would by all means advise you to take your departure tonight.  Swim back to shore the way you came.  In any case, your absence is desired.  There will be no room or provision or water for you on board the Jeanne D’Arc after to-night.  Is my meaning clear?”

Jim was watching, as well as he could, the immobile, expressionless face, and did not immediately note that Monsieur Chatelard had drawn a small, shiny object from his hip pocket and was holding it carelessly in his lap.  As his gaze focussed on the revolver, however, he did the one thing, perhaps, which at that moment could have put the Frenchman off his guard.  He threw his head back and laughed aloud.

But before his laugh had time to echo in the narrow fo’cas’le, Jim leaped from his bunk upon his tormentor, like a cat upon a mouse, seized his right hand in a paralyzing grip, and was himself thrown violently to the floor.  The struggle was brief, for the Frenchman was no match for Jim in strength and scarcely superior to him in skill; but it took one of Jim’s old wrestling feints to get the better of his opponent.  He came out, in five seconds, with the pistol in his hand.  Monsieur Chatelard, a bit breathless, but not greatly discomposed, peered out at him from the edge of the opposite bunk, where he sat uncomfortably.  His cynical voice capped the struggle like a streak of pitch.

“Pray keep the weapon.  You are welcome, though your methods are somewhat surprising.  Had I known them earlier, I might have offered you my little toy.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” said Jimmy.  “I thought you might not be used to firearms, that’s all.”

The varnished surface of Monsieur Chatelard’s countenance gave no evidence of his having heard Jim’s remark.

“Don’t fancy that your abrupt movements, have deprived me of what authority I may happen to possess on this vessel.  My request as to your future action still stands, unless you had rather one of my faithful men should assist you in carrying out my purpose.”