There was something savage in his tone⁠—a menace against the person who had dared to hurt me. Even before he spoke I had recognized him. It was my man⁠—the man with the scar.

But that one moment in which his attention had been diverted to me had been enough for the fallen enemy. Quick as a flash he had risen to his feet and taken to his heels down the deck. With an oath Rayburn sprang after him.

I always hate being out of things. I joined the chase⁠—a bad third. Round the deck we went to the starboard side of the ship. There by the saloon door lay the man in a crumpled heap. Rayburn was bending over him.

“Did you hit him again?” I called breathlessly.

“There was no need,” he replied grimly. “I found him collapsed by the door. Or else he couldn’t get it open and is shamming. We’ll soon see about that. And we’ll see who he is too.”