her in with the sliding latch, then sprang to the taffrail to lend a helping hand to Mr. Barcus, who was climbing aboard, after he had pulled the dory up under the stern by its painter. He came over the rail in a temper, bellowed a blasphemous command to take the wheel and swing the Seaventure off again upon her course, and then pulled himself together.
"I hope you'll pardon the impertinence," he suggested acidly, "but may I inquire if that bloody-minded vixen is your blushing bride to be?"
Alan shook a helpless head. "No—it's all a damnable mistake. She's her sister—I mean, the right girl's sister—and her precise double—fooled me—not quite right in the head, I'm afraid."
"You may well be afraid!" Mr. Barcus snapped, "D'you know what she did? Threw me overboard! Fact! Came on deck sweet as peaches, and all of a sudden whips out a gun, points it at my head, and orders me to luff into the wind. Before I could make sure I wasn't dreaming, she had fired twice—in the air—a signal to that fisherman astern there: at least, it answered with two hoots of its whistle and changed course to run up to us. Look how she's gained already!"
A glance showed the vessel within a mile and apparently bent on running them down.
"But how did she happen to throw you overboard?"
