"
"What's this? Any of our boats back?" asked Lingard from the poop. "Let
the seacannie in charge come to me at once."
"There's only a message from the yacht," began Shaw, deliberately.
"Yacht! Get the deck lamps along here in the waist! See the ladder
lowered. Bear a hand, serang! Mr. Shaw! Burn the flare up aft. Two of
them! Give light to the yacht's boats that will be coming alongside.
Steward! Where's that steward? Turn him out then."
Bare feet began to patter all round Carter. Shadows glided swiftly.
"Are these flares coming? Where's the quartermaster on duty?" shouted
Lingard in English and Malay. "This way, come here! Put it on a rocket
stick--can't you? Hold over the side--thus! Stand by with the lines for
the boats forward there. Mr. Shaw--we want more light!"
"Aye, aye, sir," called out Shaw, but he did not move, as if dazed by
the vehemence of his commander.
"That's what we want," muttered Carter under his breath. "Imposter! What
do you call yourself?" he said half aloud to Shaw.
The ruddy glare of the flares disclosed Lingard from head to foot,
standing at the break of the poop. His head was bare, his face, crudely
lighted, had a fierce and changing expression in the sway of flames.
"What can be his game?" thought Carter, impressed by the powerful
and wild aspect of that figure.
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