"You'll break it yourself, Flint, if you move another inch," said
Cunningham, nonchalantly. "This is the gentlest trick I have in the bag.
Cut out the booze until we're off this yacht. Be a good sport and play the
game according to contract. I don't like these side shows. But you wanted
me to show you. Want to call it off?"

Sweat began to bead Flint's forehead. He was straining every muscle in his
body to minimize that inexorable turning of his elbow and shoulder.

"The stuff is in Number Two bunker," he said, with a ghastly grin. "I'll
chuck it over."

"There, now!" Cunningham stepped back. "I might have made it your neck.
But I'm patient, because I want this part of the game to go through
according to schedule. When I turn back this yacht I want nothing missing
but the meals I've had."

Flint rubbed his arm, scowling, and walked over to his bunk.

"Boys," said Cunningham, "so far you've been bricks. Shortly we'll be
heading southeast on our own. Wherever I am known, men will tell you that
I never break my word. I promised you that we'd come through with clean
heels. Something has happened which we could not forestall. There is a
woman on board. It is not necessary to say that she is under my
protection."