“A what?” Charles exclaimed, perspiring visibly.

“A coup manqué,” the young man replied, with a compassionate smile.  “A failure, don’t you know; a bad shot; a fiasco.  I learn from my scouts that you sent a telegram by special messenger to Lord Craig-Ellachie this morning.  That shows you suspect me.  Now, it is a principle of my system never to go on for one move with a game when I find myself suspected.  The slightest symptom of distrust, and—­I back out immediately.  My plans can only be worked to satisfaction when there is perfect confidence on the part of my patient.  It is a well-known rule of the medical profession.  I never try to bleed a man who struggles.  So now we’re off.  Ta-ta!  Good luck to you!”

He was not much more than twenty yards away, and could talk to us quite easily.  But the water was deep; the islet rose sheer from I’m sure I don’t know how many fathoms of sea; and we could neither of us swim.  Charles stretched out his arms imploringly.  “For Heaven’s sake,” he cried, “don’t tell me you really mean to leave us here.”

He looked so comical in his distress and terror that Mrs. Granton—­Madame Picardet—­whatever I am to call her—­laughed melodiously in her prettiest way at the sight of him.  “Dear Sir Charles,” she called out, “pray don’t be afraid!  It’s only a short and temporary imprisonment.  We will send men to take you off.  Dear David and I only need just time enough to get well ashore and make—­oh!—­a few slight alterations in our personal appearance.”  And she indicated with her hand, laughing, dear David’s red wig and false sandy whiskers, as we felt convinced they must be now.  She looked at them and tittered.  Her manner at this moment was anything but shy.  In fact, I will venture to say, it was that of a bold and brazen-faced hoyden.

“Then you are Colonel Clay!” Sir Charles cried, mopping his brow with his handkerchief.

“If you choose to call me so,” the young man answered politely.  “I’m sure it’s most kind of you to supply me with a commission in Her Majesty’s service.  However, time presses, and we want to push off.  Don’t alarm yourselves unnecessarily.  I will send a boat to take you away from this rock at the earliest possible moment consistent with my personal safety and my dear companion’s.”  He laid his hand on his heart and struck a sentimental attitude.  “I have received too many unwilling kindnesses at your hands, Sir Charles,” he continued, “not to feel how wrong it would be of me to inconvenience you for nothing.  Rest assured that you shall be rescued by midnight at latest.  Fortunately, the weather just at present is warm, and I see no chance of rain; so you will suffer, if at all, from nothing worse than the pangs of temporary hunger.”

Mrs. Granton, no longer squinting—­’twas a mere trick she had assumed—­rose up in the boat and stretched out a rug to us.  “Catch!” she cried, in a merry voice, and flung it at us, doubled.  It fell at our feet; she was a capital thrower.