The tide was at half ebb, and the trip out to the Humming Top much wetter than Madame had expected. The long Pacific rollers were already crashing upon the bar, and had the motor boat delayed its return by half an hour, even the passage inshore would have become too boisterous for safety. But Madame, anxious lest she should be cut off for more than six hours from the port-drinking intruders in the Humming Top's smoke-room, gave orders that the surf must be faced at all hazards. So the powerful little craft, driven by the full power of its eight-cylindered engine, gave back buffet for buffet, and got through, though the passenger and crew were soaked to the skin in the effort. Madame, in her bathing dress and linen trench coat, had been saturated so often since her first passage of the breakers with Willatopy, that she paid no heed to salt water. She had always loved the sea, and was becoming well salted.

Ching and the apologetic steward met her at the top of the accommodation ladder.

"With your permission, Captain," said she, "I will now take charge." And, turning to the steward, flung out the one word "Explain!"

"Mr. Willatopy and his friend," said the man, "arrived alongside in the yawl and came aboard. Mr. Willatopy said that the surf was too bad for the yawl to go in, and that they would wait until high tide in the yacht. I knew that you, Madame, would wish me to treat the young gentleman with respect, so I asked him, and his friend, to enter the smoke-room. A few minutes later the bell rang, and Mr. Willatopy said that his friend wished for a drink. Would I get a bottle of port? I had no orders, and I was aware that Mr. Willatopy is said to be the new Lord Topsham, so I brought the wine in a decanter. Then I reported what I had done to the Captain. He was very angry, and at once sent off the motor boat to fetch you. He knew that you would risk the surf, and was angry that you should have been called upon to do it. I ought to have reported to the Captain before I carried out the young gentleman's order."

"On the whole, Captain," said Madame, thoughtfully, "I am not sorry that this incident has happened. We now know the line of Clifford's attack, and can take measures to meet it. I will counterattack at once."

She mounted the steps of the boat decks, and walked up to the smoke-room. She stood at the open door looking down upon the trespassers, who had already made free with nearly a whole bottle of Sir John's carefully selected wine. Willie had his back to her, so that the Hedge Lawyer saw her first. His mean, thin face went white, and he tried to push back his chair, forgetting that it was screwed to the deck. Willie turned, and seeing Madame, raised his glass.

"Have a drink, Madame?" cried he. "I hate whisky, but I like port, which John taught me to drink in Thursday Island. I like tumblers better than these silly glasses, and the sweet, sticky stuff we got in Thursday Island has more taste than my cousin's soft thin wine. Here's to your health, Madame." He emptied the glass, and pointed to the decanter, which was nearly exhausted. "Ring the bell, John; Madame wants a drink."

But John Clifford, with those sombre, deadly eyes of Madame Gilbert upon him, shivered.

"Willie, dear," said Madame, softly, "will you please listen to me for a moment." When Madame speaks like that there lives not a man so insensible as to disregard her. Willatopy passed a hand in rather a bewildered way across his eyes, and turned his chair round towards her. Then, in a stiff, automatic fashion, he rose to his feet and murmured: "I beg your pardon, Madame Gilbert."

She entered the room, and sat down on the sofa.

"Be seated, Willie, I want to talk with you. No," she added sternly to John Clifford, who was sliding out by the farther door. "Stay where you are, lawyer. Sit." She snapped out the word as one gives an order to a dog, and Clifford sat.

"Willie," said Madame Gilbert, in that soft, compelling voice of hers, which none can resist. "On the island yonder in a tent I live with my servants. The land is yours. Any day, at any moment, you could tell me to go, and I should go. But while I live in that tent, pitched upon your land, I am your guest and under your protection. Would you, Willie, enter that tent in my absence, and give orders to my servants? Would you seat yourself, uninvited, at my table?"

Willatopy passed a hand again over his flushed cheek and heavy eyes. "You are my guest on the Island, Madame, my honoured guest. I could not approach your tent without your permission. You know that, Madame."

"I know it, Willie. But think a little. This yacht is mine, lent to me by your cousin, Sir John Toppys. All the men on board are my servants. The yacht is as much my home as the tent ashore. An English gentleman, Willie, does not go into the house of his friend and order wine to be placed before him; he waits to be invited, Willie. Still less does he bring another, a stranger, with him. You cannot be an English Lord, Willie, unless you begin by becoming an English gentleman."

Willatopy looked intently at Madame all the while she was speaking, and his eyes lost their blurred look. As the fumes of the unaccustomed port cleared away, the native sense of courtesy in his brown and white blood revived. He sprang from his chair, dropped on the floor at her feet, and laid his black, frizzy head upon her knees.

"Forgive me, Madame," cried he. "I was—a perfect hog."

"Willie dear," said Madame, as she passed her hands gently over the long frizzled hair, and arranged the tresses neatly on her lap. "Now that you are an English Lord, you will really have to get your hair cut." In this fashion the two became reconciled.

Willatopy shed a vinous tear or two on Madame's trench coat, and then sprang violently up as a thought struck him.

"You, John," roared he. "You white slave! Why did you not tell me that it was a hoggish thing to come on board Madame's yacht and order Madame's wine? I did not think. You are my white slave, and it is your job to think for me. Madame, have I your permission to kill John here in your yacht? I should like to begin at once."

"I will deal with him," said Madame. "Willie, have you half-a-crown?"

Willatopy, looking puzzled, thrust his hand into a trouser pocket, and produced a silver coin.

"It is a two-shilling piece," said he. "Will that do?"

"Quite well." Madame drew the automatic pistol from her side pocket. John Clifford cowered before her, screaming. "Worm and liar," snapped Madame. "I am convinced that you are a hedge lawyer—so scurvy a wretch could be none other—but I will never believe that even for three months you were ever an English officer. Come outside and and look upon your death." She drove him out on to the deck at her pistol muzzle. He crouched down by the rail, and covered his eyes with both hands.

"No," said Madame. "That will not do at all. I had not intended to slay you—just yet—but I am going to make you watch me shoot. As a warning. Take away those hands and look at me." Her voice snapped at him as it had done before, and Clifford obeyed—as a dog obeys its mistress. He sat up by the rail and looked at her.

"Willie," said Madame. "Stand over there with your back to the sea. I don't want anyone to be hurt, not even the brave lawyer. When I give the word, throw that coin into the air. I am going to show to Mr. John Clifford a little bit of trick shooting which he may bear in his remembrance—as a warning. I shall not hit you, Willie."

"I am not afraid," said the boy with a touch of pride. He did as she commanded. With his back to the sea, and at the word from Madame, he spun the florin into the air.

She had stretched out her pistol arm, and with the muzzle followed the scrap of white metal which flew upwards sparkling in the sun. Madame declares that she never looks at her gun sights—that she shoots by instinct. Exactly at the instant when the coin stopped in act to fall, Madame's pistol cracked, and the two-shilling piece, hit fairly by the small .25 bullet, flashed over the rail into the sea.

"Teach me to do that," cried Willie.

Madame returned the pistol to her pocket, and contemplated Clifford.

"I am a woman," said she, "and very nervous. My terrors, when a stranger approaches my camp, even by day, are lamentable. I struggle against them, but it is no use. My one consolation is this pistol, which never leaves my side, and my skill in its use. My nerves are so uncontrollable that I am sure no stranger—not even one so innocent of offence as Mr. John Clifford—is safe within pistol shot of me. As a friend, who would be desolated should an accident befall him, I say to Mr. Clifford: 'keep clear of Madame Gilbert.' Captain," went on Madame, turning to Ching, who had not been far away during this scene, "Mr. John Clifford regrets that he must leave us. Would you please order out a boat, and put him ashore over there by the mangroves. He will have a pleasant walk through the woods of a couple of miles before reaching a human habitation. Contemplation is good for the penitent soul. And should he approach the ladder of the yacht again—I doubt myself if he can be persuaded to pay us another call—will you please give orders that Madame Gilbert is not at home—neither is her port."

The dinghy was swung out and Clifford invited to enter. He turned to Willatopy.

"Are you coming too, my lord?" asked he, obsequiously.

"No," said Willie. "I hate walking. And your society does not amuse me. The brown girls on Thursday Island who would not touch you, when you sought their favours, were right. You are an unclean beast. Go and walk and sweat by yourself. I am tired, and would sleep, if Madame will permit."

He stretched himself upon the sofa bunk in the smoke-room, and instantly fell asleep. Madame sat watching the dark, quiet face, so very negroid now that the bright blue eyes were veiled, and presently Ching joined her.

"Captain," said she softly. "The white blood stirs, and with it the taste for white vice. Look at those lines under the eyes which stand out purple against his skin. Listen to that harsh note in his breath, and watch the uneasy twitch of his long, thin fingers. It was not in that restless fashion that he slept when Willatopy was our pilot and our guest. His Heirship lies heavily upon him already, and its burden has scarcely begun. Do you still hate Willatopy, Captain Ching?"

"No, Madame. Since you told us of the black boy's devotion to his white father, I have hated him no more. I wish to help his young lordship if I can."

"He will need all our help," said Madame, sighing. "The evil that Grant prophesied is coming upon him. If it is port to-day, it will be brandy to-morrow. He hates whisky now, but for how long will his palate reject it? Clifford will steep him in foul liquors if he can. For the moment Willatopy is unspoiled. When I spoke in tones of reproof, he fell at my feet and kissed my coat. He implored my forgiveness. But for how long can I fight against the wiles of Clifford?"

"What strikes me the most forcibly may seem to you a little thing," said the Skipper. "Willatopy arrived here in his yawl at an hour when he could not pass the bar for the fury of the swell. He came aboard us, and said that he had forgotten the state of the tide. Think of that for a sailor and pilot like him. When he was conning the Humming Top, Madame, he knew the tide level to an inch, but now he forgets that at certain states his own yawl cannot sail over his own bar. I think that the pair of them must have been lying up and drinking most of the night, Madame."

"Captain, you are very wise. What you say frightens me."

Willatopy stirred upon the sofa and groaned.

"John," he murmured, "you said the wine was not strong, and did no harm. But my head burns, and I cannot see. My father said...."

His voice trailed away, and he slid into half-drunken unconsciousness.

"That Hedge Lawyer is a cunning devil," said Madame. "It looks as if he represented port as a temperance drink, favoured by the strictest missionaries. I wondered a little why port was chosen for the first introduction to alcohol. Captain Ching, it sticks in my mind that my patience and courtesy towards that stranger will fail me, and that he will get hurt. When I saw him sitting opposite Willatopy in this room, making free with my yacht and my wine, my hand went to my gun. He saw death in my eyes, and wilted."

"It is a job for us, not for you," said Ching deliberately. "Shall we take him out into the Straits—and lose him? Not a man aboard of us would give away the secret. My conscience would not worry me. I would as soon drown that devil as a rat."

"We may come to it. One's views upon the sanctity of human life change with the circumstances. I do not hold it crime to slay Clifford if the killing of him would save Willatopy. But it would be a postponement, that is all. Other poachers would find him out and we should not then be at hand to interpose for his protection. There is an alternative which appeals to me more strongly. Clifford is away toiling through the woods yonder. Willatopy is here with us. Suppose, while he sleeps, that we send in for my camp gear, ship it on board, cast off our moorings, and sail immediately for England. Willie would then have been cut loose from the unscrupulous poachers of St. Mary Axe. I would hand him over to the Trustees of the Toppys estates, who must give his claims full recognition, and keep a constant watch upon him in England. Disaster, degeneracy, will fall upon him, I fear. They are the present perils of his explosive half blood. But at least he would have been preserved from deliberate corruption. Will you please summon Alexander. He is shrewd and vairy circumspectious. Let us have his opinion."

Alexander considered the proposal with a grave, judicial countenance. He had been below tinkering with his adored engines—painting the lily of the high-speed turbines—and had seen nothing of the expulsion of John Clifford. When told how Madame had plugged a two-shilling piece with a .25 pistol bullet, he expanded with admiration.

"Yon Clifford will go in fear of his dirty life," said he with satisfaction. "He will scuttle for the woods when the shadow of our sweet Madame falls across his track. You are a bonny shooter, but don't puncture the vermin if you can keep your wee gun off him. I like fine your new plan. There is a flavour of lawless kidnapping about it which appeals, which appeals. Both Ching and me are with you up to the neck. Will you send ashore now for the gear?"

"You can't," interposed Ching shortly. "'Tis close on low water, and the bar is not passable."

"Oh!" groaned Madame. "Like Willie, I had forgotten the tide."

"It's a peety, a sore peety," observed Ewing. "But not an insuperable obstacle. The tents and the gear are worth much money; still they belong to Sir John Toppys and not to us. He would be the loser by their being left behind, not us. The Idle Rich can afford losses of gear. We can maroon the tents as we propose to maroon the law agent."

"But," objected Ching—to the best of plans there is always some intrusive objection—"what about my six men in the escort tent, and Madame's maid, Marie? We can't leave them behind."

"I will willingly leave Marie—she can console John Clifford if she has the stomach for him. But I agree that we can't leave Ching's men. They are wanted to work the yacht. Besides, after my stores were exhausted they would have nothing to live on except bananas and the produce of Mrs. Toppy's fowls and garden. It would be a low down trick to play on the poor dears. We must confide Willie and his future to the hands of Fate. If he stays asleep until the tide rises, and we can evacuate my camp, we will accept the omen, up anchor, and sail to-night for home. Willie himself shall be our Pilot. But if not, not. I am a fatalist, and shall not grumble either way. Will you please get the boats ready, Captain, so that no time may be lost. We must do our bit to help the workings of Fate, but I shan't interfere to the extent of locking Willie up, and kidnapping him by force."

But Fate had already decided. Willatopy awoke at about one o'clock, announced that hunger devastated him, and for the first time lunched with Madame and her companions in the saloon. As Willatopy he had messed with the junior officers; as the Twenty-Eighth Baron of Topsham he sat at Madame's right hand in the saloon. There was no pretence now that he was a byblow of Will. Toppys.

It was interesting to observe Willie at table. He had been brought up strictly as a native of the Straits, and in his father's hut had lived exactly like other brown boys. Now and then, during his visits to Thursday Island, he had sat at table in rough company. Once or twice, I believe, the banker Grant had invited him to tea with his wife and family. In the usages of white society, with these small exceptions, Willie was wholly unversed. Yet no one watching him now, seated beside Madame, and talking freely with Ching and Ewing, would have suspected the slenderness of his social equipment. He never touched knife or fork or plate until by observation he had seen how the others used them. He watched his companions as narrowly as he watched the reefs by which, and over which, he sailed his yawl. His method was slow, but it was very sure. In the course of time he satisfied his hunger, and all through the meal he never committed one noticeable gaucherie.

"The boy is white and a gentleman," thought Madame. "What a pity it is that his skin did not come as pale as that of his sisters. But for that most unfortunate coffee-coloured epidermis, there might be a chance for him after all. The brown skin together with the explosive mixture in his blood are too overwhelming a handicap to carry." No wine was served by Madame's strict orders.

Afterwards in the smoke-room over coffee and cigarettes—Willie had never smoked before, but seemed to relish one of Madame's favourite Russians—Madame openly spoke to Willie of their intentions had he not awakened so inopportunely.

"It is not too late, Willie, to go now with us of your own free will. Lord Topsham—for you really and truly are Lord Topsham, a great English Lord—cannot for long remain on a little island in the Torres Straits. He will be sought out by his own Trustees, and by loathsome sharks of the Clifford breed. Now that you know the truth and your white blood stirs in your veins, I become convinced that you must go to England. Before you had gone on that trip to Thursday Island, I thought it possible that you might stay in peace here. Now I am sure that sooner or later you must go. And if Fate wills, sail with us, your friends who love you, in a Toppys ship. We will take you home with us, and put you in your lawful place."

But Willie said No. The wine, dying out in his system, had left him full of terrors. The gallant lad, who had fought for three days to save his godlike father from the devils of the sea, who until now had never felt fear, trembled before the unknown.

"I will never leave Tops Island," muttered he. "This is my home. I am a Hula, and my father said, 'Always be Hula, Willie, never go to England.' I cannot disobey the words of the Great White Chief, my father. Clifford I hate. I am sorry, Madame, that I did not kill him when first he landed on my island. It was you who saved his miserable life from me. In Thursday Island he tried to give me whisky, and, when I refused it, told me the sweet sticky port was good and safe to drink. I liked it, Madame. He brought two, three cases away in the yawl, and some other stuff like port—he called it cherry brandy. That I like too. It is hot and sweet. And then there is...." In his artless fashion he was about to speak of the girl Marie, but the white blood stirred, for the first time in his relations with women he felt shame, and the sentence was left unfinished.

"It is as you will," said Madame gently. "We will remain here for a little while longer. Should you change your mind and wish to go, here is the Humming Top at your service. We cannot sail without our Pilot. We should be cast away on the reefs for sure. You brought us to your island, Willie, and only you can take us away."

"I will be your pilot to Thursday Island whenever you wish, Madame. But no farther. I will return here in my yawl."

"And what about Clifford?"

"If he has not gone, I will cut off his head. It amuses me that he should be my white slave, but I grow weary of him. His head will smoke nicely over the fire in my cookhouse."

The afternoon drew on, and the tide rose to its height. Willie, looking out over the bar, decided that the moment for his departure had arrived. He went to the stern of the yacht where the yawl had been tied up.

"One moment," said Madame. "Those cases which Clifford bought? The port and the cherry brandy? Shall we throw them overboard, Willie?"

The boy's face worked uneasily. He had tasted of the juice of the Californian grape and found it very good. He had decided not to go to England to claim his lordship, but had not decided to cut himself loose from all white seductions. It was his intention to carry the cases to his island, and there to offer alcoholic hospitality to the girl Marie. Madame knew nothing of what passed through his opening mind.

"Shall we throw the cases into the sea?" she enquired anxiously. "It will be better so, Willie, my dear."

Willie did not refuse her in words. He stood hesitating, and then suddenly leaped over the rail. Down he dropped true upon the yawl's deck, and steadied himself with one hand on the mainmast. In a moment he had cast off and run up the sails.

Madame Gilbert watched the yawl fly through the slack water towards the bar, and heave and pitch in the swell. Willie took her over as a skilful rider lifts a horse over a gate, and slid away into the distant recesses of the bay.

She turned to Ching, who stood silent at her side.

"There is something hidden," said she. "Something that we do not know. One does not all at once become so fond of drink. What is that something, Captain Ching?"

Ching shook his head. He did not know. If Alexander had been present, I do not think that he would have shaken his head. He might not have known more than was vouchsafed to Ching, but he would, at least, have put up a guess. Alexander, the circumspectious man, did not lightly confess to being baffled.

Willie moored the yawl at the head of the bay, and went ashore in the collapsible boat. On the edge of the beach he met Marie, who, in the absence of the terrible Madame Gilbert, had gained courage.

"My lord has been a long time gone," whispered she, regarding him sideways with the eyes that bit. "Marie has missed you very much."

"You will not miss me any more," said Willie. He kissed her—it was the salute of the seigneur to the beautiful white slave—and with his arm about her waist walked slowly towards the woods.