himself engaged in the pastime of bobbing for apples. A more

finely sympathetic mind or a more observant eye might havc

remarked, a little in front of him on the sand, and still quite

beyond reach, the unlighted cigar.

'There is your Whitechapel carrion!' said Attwater. 'And now

you might very well ask me why I do not put a period to you

at once, as you deserve. I will tell you why, Davis. It is

because I have nothing to do with the Sea Ranger and the people

you drowned, or the Farallone and the champagne that you stole.

That is your account with God, He keeps it, and He will settle

it when the clock strikes. In my own case, I have nothing to go

on but suspicion, and I do not kill on suspicion, not even vermin

like you. But understand! if ever I see any of you again, it is

another matter, and you shall eat a bullet. And now take

yourself off. March! and as you value what you call your life,

keep your hands up as you go!'

The captain remained as he was, his hands up, his mouth open:

mesmerised with fury.

'March!' said Attwater. 'One--two--three!'

And Davis turned and passed slowly away. But even as he

went, he was meditating a prompt, offensive return. In the

twinkling of an eye, he had leaped behind a tree; and was

crouching there, pistol in hand, peering from either side of his

place of ambush with bared teeth; a serpent already poised to

strike. And already he was too late. Attwater and his servants

had disappeared; and only the lamps shone on the deserted table

and the bright sand about the house, and threw into the night in

all directions the strong and tall shadows of the palms.

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