Was it in one of the
photographs held in the police department, or was it merely a picture
in some shop window? But the remembrance was very vague. Perhaps I
merely imagined it.
Well, though his companions had not had the politeness to answer me,
perhaps he would be more courteous. He spoke the same language as I,
although I could not feel quite positive that he was of American
birth. He might indeed have decided to pretend not to understand me,
so as to avoid all discussion while he held me prisoner.
In that case, what did he mean to do with me? Did he intend to
dispose of me without further ceremony? Was he only waiting for night
to throw me overboard? Did even the little which I knew of him, make
me a danger of which he must rid himself? But in that case, he might
better have left me at the end of his anchor line. That would have
saved him the necessity of drowning me over again.
I turned, I walked to the stern, I stopped full in front of him.
Then, at length, he fixed full upon me a glance that burned like a
flame.
"Are you the captain?" I asked.
He was silent.
"This boat! Is it really the 'Terror?'"
To this question also there was no response. Then I reached toward
him; I would have taken hold of his arm.
He repelled me without violence, but with a movement that suggested
tremendous restrained power.
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