The thought allured him, and therein lay the danger. He turned and shouted some orders to the Kanaka crew, then nodded to the sampan's coolies, who bore upon the sweeps and headed for the Sha-mien. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. And then scratched it out and wrote instead, “Gérard”. I get the worst headaches. Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. That wasn’t even the worst thing. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that.
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