The Launching of Roger Brook

there, and while they waited for Rapenot to appear, so that the service of the meal could begin, he gave Roger the situation. The sou'-wester had driven them many miles off their course and they were now beating west along the coast of Sussex.

Roger had again temporarily lost count of time but a swift check up told him that to-day was Sunday the 3rd. To his consternation he realised that it would be six full days that night since he had left Paris, yet, owing to the storm he was no nearer to reaching London than he had been when at St. Valery, and it would now be the seventh before he could get his precious paper to Whitehall. Even if the Cabinet acted instantly it seemed highly improbable that they would be able to get instructions to the British Minister at The Hague in time for him to make a bid to stop the revolt planned for the tenth.

Rapenot came in and, while they were eating, made some sarcastic references to Roger's poor showing as a seaman, but he took refuge in his avowed scant knowledge of French and pretended not to under­stand. And he was much too perturbed about the delay, which now threatened to wreck the object of his journey, to care.

When he went out on deck again all sail was set and, owing to the configuration of the coast, the barque was now considerably nearer to it than she had been in the morning. By two o'clock she was off the eastern end of the Isle of Wight and Roger was picking out familiar beauty spots with a futile longing for wings with which to reach them. Yet it was not until they were passing St. Catherine's Point, at the southern extremity of the island, that he was suddenly seized with a brilliant idea. Why should he not get Captain Rapenot to turn into the bay to the west of the island, lower a boat, and put him ashore.

The instant the idea came to him he realised that the advantages it offered were immense. From Lymington he could, at a push, ride to London overnight, and give the Cabinet a clear six days in which to make their intentions known with regard to the United Provinces. More, if he landed at Falmouth, it would be with only a few francs in his pocket. He knew no one there and might suffer the most infuriating delays and difficulties in raising the money or credit necessary before he could even set out for London. Whereas Lymington was his home. His mother was certain to have a few guineas in the house that she could lend him. He could borrow a horse from the stables and be off within the hour. To land there would make all the difference between success and failure.

Then his mind flashed to Rapenot. The grizzled, hook-armed Captain was a surly devil and about as disobliging as any man could be. There seamed only one way to get round nun, which was to buy his complaisance, and Roger's pockets were near empty. Suddenly he thought again of de Caylus's ring. That ought to do the trick.

Undoing his coat he pulled out the end of the string that hung round his neck, undid it, took oS the ring and slipped it into his pocket; then he retied the string and thrust back the precious document that was still attached to it. Walking over to the deck-house, in which the Captain was talking to his Marseillais second mate, he thrust in his head and said: 'Captain, a word with you, if you please.'

Rapenot got up from the wooden bench on which he was sitting and came to the door. 'Well?' he said, 'what would you?'

Roger politely touched his stocking-cap, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'My home is no great distance from here, not far from Southampton, and 'twould be a great boon if you could put me ashore somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Needles.'

The Captain's Up curled. 'Why should I go out of my way for such as you? This unseasonable weather has already lost me five days on my trip to Falmouth, and a part of my cargo is rotting in the hold. I've not,time to give to landing passengers.'

'Oh, cornel' expostulated Roger, pointing to a small, broad-beamed yacht that was lapping briskly through the water off their starboard beam. 'You have but to slacken sail a Uttle and hail yonder yacht. Those in it wiU come alongside and take me off without a doubt.'

'I'll slacken sail for no one,' declared Rapenot gruffly, 'I bargained to take you to Falmouth and I'll take you there; but I'll be damned if I'll lose a breath of this wind to pleasure anyone.'

Roger produced the sapphire ring. ''Tis worth a lot to me to reach my home speedily. I'm mighty loath to part with this, but I'll give it you if you'll do as I wish.'

Rapenot's eyes narrowed at the sight of the valuable jewel. 'If that is a genuine stone 'tis worth the profits on a dozen voyages,' he said slowly.

''Tis genuine!' declared Roger. 'I'll take my oath on that.'

The Marseillais had come up behind his Captain. With a suspicious glance at Roger, he remarked: 'The Englishman must have some desperately urgent business ashore to offer such a gem.'

'The Englishman!' exclaimed Rapenot, a sudden fight dawning in his eyes. 'Mort de ma vie! He is the felon mentioned in the pro­clamation that we read!'

'Ventre du diable! You are right!' cried the Marseillais. 'I recognise him from the description now.'

'Seize him,' Rapenot bellowed, starting forward. 'If we throw him in the hold and take him back to France we'll reap the thousand louis reward!'

For a second Roger was dumbfounded by this unexpected and horri­fying outcome of his plan. During all the agonising discomforts of the past two days he had thought himself safe at least from meeting his end on a French scaffold. Yet now he was menaced once again by the ignominious doom of a felon. If they got him they would bind and gag him and he might he for days in Falmouth harbour, a prisoner in some stinking hole, without a hope of escape. The thought of being taken when so near his goal and actually within sight of England was unendurable. As they came at him he thrust the ring into his pocket, leapt back, and drew his sword.

Both the Frenchmen had drawn their knives. Rapenot threw a glance over his shoulder and called to the helmsman. 'Antoine! Leave the wheel! Summon the bos'n! Tell him to get the muskets!'

Roger knew then that he had not a moment to lose. Without waiting to be attacked he sailed in with a lightning lunge at Rapenot.

To his joy the blade pierced the Captain through the shoulder, causing him to drop his knife with a screech of pain.

But the wily Marseillais, crouching low, ran in under Roger's sword and thrust upwards with his knife.

Only the roll of the ship saved Roger from taking the stab in the stomach. The dip of the swell caused him to take a pace backward as he wrenched free his sword. Then, with a swift recovery, he turned to face his second antagonist.

Shouts and calls now came from the body of the vessel. Few of the crew who had been standing there knew what the fracas was about, but, on seeing their officers attacked, they came swarming towards the ladders that led up to the poop.

His eyes gleaming Roger lunged again. The point of his sword caught the Marseillais beneath the chin, and, with a howl, the man staggered back, clasping at his bleeding neck.

Having temporarily freed himself from his two attackers Roger turned and jumped for the ship's side. The nearest member of the crew had only just tumbled on to the break of the poop, but Rapenot had picked up his knife and was coming at him again.

Throwing one leg over the low bulwark Roger suddenly swung round, leaned inboard and delivered another thrust. Rapenot threw up his hook, but too late; the flashing blade, forced upwards by his own gesture of defence, ripped his face from the chin to the corner of his eye.

Roger jerked back his sword, seized its sheath with his left hand, fumbled for a moment, then rammed it home. As he did so the foremost sailor came at him brandishing a heavy belaying-pin, but when he lashed out it whistled through empty air. Ducking the blow Roger heaved himself over the side and fell with a splash into the water.

He went down, down, down; steadied, came up and, as his head emerged, gave a gasp. He knew that he was far from being out of danger. As he had swung himself overboard several of the crew, led by the bos'n, had been running across the deck with muskets and pistols in their hands; and he was over a mile from the shore.

His only hope lay in the little yacht that had been bobbing along a quarter of a mile off their beam. He had glimpsed it just before he hit the water. Their attention caught by the shouts and fighting on the poop of the barque the yacht's crew had put her over on a leeward tack, in order to get closer and see what was happening.

Striking out towards her Roger raised himself in the water and gave a shout: 'A moi! A moi!'