"I was only jesting, Captain," said the latter, paling somewhat.
"That's all right," said Holmes, taking up his glass again. "So was I when
I ordered you in irons, and in order that you may appreciate the full
force of the joke I repeat it. Bonaparte, do your duty."
In an instant the order was obeyed, and the unhappy Judge shortly found
himself manacled and alone in the forecastle. Meanwhile Captain Cook, in
response to the commander's order, repaired to the deck and scanned the
distant coast.
"I can't place it," he said. "It can't be Monte Cristo, can it?"
"No, it can't," said the Count, who stood hard by. "My island was in the
Mediterranean, and even if it dragged anchor it couldn't have got out
through the Strait of Gibraltar."
"Perhaps it's Robinson Crusoe's island," suggested Doctor Johnson.
"Not it," observed De Foe. "If it is, the rest of you will please keep
off. It's mine, and I may want to use it again. I've been having a number
of interviews with Crusoe latterly, and he's given me a lot of new points,
which I intend incorporating in a sequel for the _Cimmerian Magazine_."
"Well, in the name of Atlas, what island is it, then?" roared Holmes,
angrily. "What is the matter with all you learned lubbers that I have
brought along on this trip? Do you suppose I've brought you to whistle up
favorable winds? Not by the beard of the Prophet! I brought you to give me
information, and now when I ask for the name of a simple little island
like that in plain sight there's not one of you able so much as to guess
at it reasonably.
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