"Get out of here, or I'll throw you out, you miserable blockhead!"
roared Rokoff, taking a threatening step toward the Swede.
Anderssen continued to smile foolishly in his direction, but one
ham-like paw slid stealthily to the handle of the long, slim knife
that protruded from the greasy cord supporting his soiled apron.
Rokoff saw the move and stopped short in his advance. Then he
turned toward Jane Clayton.
"I will give you until tomorrow," he said, "to reconsider your answer
to my offer. All will be sent ashore upon one pretext or another
except you and the child, Paulvitch and myself. Then without
interruption you will be able to witness the death of the baby."
He spoke in French that the cook might not understand the sinister
portent of his words. When he had done he banged out of the cabin
without another look at the man who had interrupted him in his
sorry work.
When he had gone, Sven Anderssen turned toward Lady Greystoke--the
idiotic expression that had masked his thoughts had fallen away,
and in its place was one of craft and cunning.
"Hay tank Ay ban a fool," he said. "Hay ben the fool. Ay savvy
Franch."
Jane Clayton looked at him in surprise.
"You understood all that he said, then?"
Anderssen grinned.
"You bat," he said.
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