Then for a second Saltash hung, one hand still gripping Toby’s, the other holding to the rail of his sinking yacht, the two of them poised side by side above the abyss.

“You’ll save yourself, Larpent!” he cried.  “I shall want you.”

And with that he turned suddenly to his shivering companion and actually smiled into the terrified eyes.  “Come on, Toby!” he said.  “We go—­together!”

He flung his leg over with the words, and leapt straight downwards.

Toby’s shriek sounded through the tumult as they went into the grey depths.

CHAPTER VII

LARPENT’S DAUGHTER

The sinking of The Night Moth after being in collision with the liner, Corfe Castle, bound for Brazil, was an event of sufficient importance to be given a leading place in the newspapers of the following day.  Lord Saltash was well-known as a private yachtsman, and the first account which reported him amongst the drowned was received with widespread regret throughout that circle in which he was a familiar figure.  Then at a later hour came its contradiction, and his friends smiled and remarked that he had the facility of an eel for getting out of tight corners, and that they would never believe him dead till they had been to his funeral.

Long before the publication of the second report, Saltash was seated in the captain’s cabin on board the Corfe Castle, with a strong brandy and soda before him, giving a brief and vigorous account of himself and his company.  Yes, he was Charles Burchester, Viscount Saltash, owner of the private yacht, The Night Moth.  He was returning from Valrosa alone with his captain and his crew.  They had been cruising in the Atlantic with the idea of going south, but he had recently changed his mind and decided to go home.  He had not expected such damnable luck as to be run down in home waters, but he supposed that Fate was against him.  He only asked now to be put ashore as soon as possible, being for the moment heartily sick of sea-travel.  This with his most rueful grimace which Captain Beaumont of the Corfe Castle received with gravely official sympathy.

“Well, I hope you don’t blame us for your bad luck,” he said.  “We might have been sunk ourselves.”

“I never blame anyone but the devil for that,” said Saltash generously.  “And as you managed to pick us all up I am glad on the whole that you weren’t.”

And then he turned sharply at a knock on the door behind him to see a lean, lank man enter who peered at him curiously through screwed-up eyes as though he had never seen anything like him before.

Captain Beaumont introduced him.  “This is Dr. Hurst.  He has come to report.  Well, doctor?  I hope you bring good news.”

Dr. Hurst came forward to the table, still looking very attentively at Saltash.

The latter’s odd eyes challenged him with royal self-assurance.  “Well?  What is the news?” he questioned.  “Fished for a sprat and caught a whale—­or is it t’other way round?”