THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
"To hell with the British jail!" William growled, shaking his fist toward the yacht. He would bump their heads together, come what might. A Cingalese boatman, his mouth and chin spattered with the juice of the betel-nut, hailed William eagerly.
"Sahib wants boat?"
"No. Clear out and don't bother me!"
The Cingalese grinned airily and moved on.
How long had the Elsa been in the harbor? When was she going to haul up her cables? This last he must know definitely. Was Colburton on board or ashore? This little puzzle was shortly straightened out for him. Three men came on to the pier. From their talk William assumed that they were officers in mufti. Servants trailed along behind, carrying huge kit-bags and many gun-cases.
"I call this luck! To make our station after a bit of good shooting, and to travel on a gem of a yacht like that!"
"Colburton is a good sort, the infernal lucky beggar! Didn't Chetwynd kill two black panthers up around Perak last spring? Ah, here comes the launch for us. We'll be able to pick up a few quid on the way. Colburton plays a rotten game of bridge, I understand."
Neither Camden nor Colburton was aboard the launch. William did not know whether he was relieved or sorry.
"What yacht is that?" he asked, casually, as the boatswain made fast.
236
