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368 "What's that, sir, by that clump o' cocoas—that bit o' rag?"

The captain raised his glasses again. A handkerchief, knotted on a stick, was wigwagging from the shore.

"None o' my men. It's the leader of the blackguards. The rogues are asking for a parley. Man the longboat!"

The gambler did not trust his own precious person to the sailors, and when they reached the shore they found only the handkerchief and the stick, and in its prongs a missive, which the captain hastily read.

"We can't risk any thing on her account, Benson. I'll sign."

He looked at his watch, reflected for a moment, then on the note he wrote

"We will beach the tender here. Produce the girl at four o'clock unharmed or " —the dash was more eloquent than any threat. At the bottom he signed his name.

They rowed back to the yacht, and, when a furlong offshore, saw the two figures by the white flag waving assent to the conditions.