mechanically dipped his oars and sending them back and forth through
the water in an even and steady stroke did not lift his eyes again.

The slumbering murmur of the waves was gloomy and fearsome. Here is
the harbor. . . From behind its stone wall, comes the sound of human
voices, the plashing of water, singing and shrill whistling."

"Stop!" whispered Tchelkache.

"Drop the oars! Lean your hands against the wall! Softly, devil!"

Gavrilo caught hold of the slippery stone and guided the boat along the
wall. He advanced noiselessly, just grazing the slimy moss of the
stone.

"Stop, give me the oars! Give them here! And your passport, where
have you put it? In your bag! Give me the bag! Quicker! . . . That,
my friend, is so that you'll not run away. . . Now I hold you.
Without oars you could have made off just the same, but, without a
passport you'll not dare. Wait! And remember that if you so much as
breathe a word I'll catch you, even though at the bottom of the sea."

Suddenly, catching hold of something, Tchelkache rose in the air; he
disappeared over the wall.

Gavrilo shuddered. . . It had been so quickly done! He felt that the
cursed weight and fear that he experienced in the presence of this
moustached and lean bandit had, as it were, slipped off and rolled away
from him. Could he escape, now? Breathing freely, he looked around
him. On the left rose a black hull without masts, like an immense