LITMIR.BIZ

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way he speaks when he is angry,” suggested Enogate.

      “No,” said Juhel. “There is more impatience than anger in the tone.”

      “Tregomain—will you come?”

      “I am coming,” said Tregomain. And the stairs began to groan as the bargeman went up them.

      A minute afterwards Antifer had pushed him across the room, and locked the door. Then drawing him before the table on which the atlas was open, he held a pair of compasses out to him.

      “Take this!” he said.

      “These compasses?”

      “Yes,” said Antifer sharply; “this island—this island with the millions in it—I have been trying to find its place on the map—”

      “And it is not there?” exclaimed Tregomain, in a tone that betrayed less surprise than satisfaction.

      “Who says so?” replied Antifer. “And why is this island not on the map?”

      “Then it is?”

      “If it is. I believe that it is; but I am so nervous, my hand shakes, the compasses burn my fingers, I cannot touch the map with them.”

      “And you want me to do it?’

      “If you are able to.”

      “Oh!” said Tregomain.

      “Well, try and we shall see. Hold the compasses and run the point along the fifty-fourth meridian, or rather the fifty-fifth, for the islet is fifty-four degrees, fifty-seven minutes—”

      The figures began to trouble the worthy man’s head.

      “Fifty-seven degrees, fifty-four minutes?” he repeated, blinking his eyes.

      “No—animal!” exclaimed Antifer. “It is the contrary. Go on.”

      Tregomain put the compasses on the western side of the map.

      “No!” roared his friend. “Not west! East, understand, you duffer! East, east, east!”

      Tregomain, deafened by these recriminations and objurgations, was incapable of doing the work properly. His eyes became veiled in a mist, drops of perspiration rolled down his forehead, and the compasses shook like the clapper of an electric bell.

      “Touch the fifty-fifth meridian,” vociferated Antifer. “Begin at the top of the map, and move down till you cut the twenty-fourth parallel!”

      “The twenty-fourth parallel!” stammered Tregomain.

      “Yes! the idiot! Yes, and the point where they cross is the position of the island.”

      “The position—”

      “Well. Go on down.”

      “I am going down!”

      “Oh! the noodle! You are going up!” The truth is that the bargeman did not know where he was, and was no fitter than his friend to solve the problem.

      Both of them were greatly agitated, and their nerves were vibrating like the strings of a double bass in the finale of an overture.

      Captain Antifer thought he was going mad. And so doing the only thing he could, he shouted for Juhel in a voice that sounded as if it came through a speaking-trumpet.

      The young captain appeared almost immediately.

      “What do you want, uncle?”

      “Juhel—where is Kamylk Pasha’s island?”

      “Where the longitude crosses the latitude.”

      “Well, look for it.”

      That was enough for Juhel. His uncle’s agitation told him what had happened. Taking the compasses in a hand which did not tremble, he placed the point where the fifty fifth meridian started from the north of the map and followed it down.

      “Tell me where it passes!” commanded Captain Antifer.

      “Yes, uncle,” said Juhel.

      And thus it was he continued,—

      “Franz Josef Land, in the Arctic Sea.”

      “Good.”

      “Barents Sea.”

      “Well”

      “Novaia Zemlia.”

      “After?”

      “Kara Sea.”

      “And then?”

      “The north of Asiatic Russia.”

      “What towns does it run through?”

      “First, Ekaterinburg.”

      “Then?”

      “Sea of Aral.”

      “Go on.”

      “Khiva in Turkestan.”

      “Are we getting near?”

      “Very soon! Herat in Persia.”

      “Is that it?”

      “Muscat, at the south-east end of Arabia.”

      “Muscat!” exclaimed Antifer, leaning over the map.

      In fact the fifty-fifth meridian and the twenty-fourth parallel crossed on the territory of the Sultan of Muscat, in that part of the Gulf of Oman above the Persian Gulf, separating Arabia from Persia.

      “Muscat!” repeated Captain Antifer.

      “Mascotte?” asked Tregomain.

      “Not Mascotte, but Muscat, you bargee!” roared his friend, shrugging his shoulders up to his ears.

      But this was only approximate, for they had as yet taken no account of the minutes.

      “You are sure it is Muscat?”

      “Yes, uncle, within seventy miles of it.”

      “Can you get any nearer?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then go on, goon—don’t you see I am bursting with impatience.”

      And a boiler worked up as he was, would have been on the point of explosion.

      Juhel picked up the compasses again, and taking account of the minutes in the longitude and latitude, he obtained the position so exactly that he could only be a mile or two out.

      “Well?” asked Antifer.

      “Well, uncle, it is not on the territory of the Sultan of Muscat, but a little to the east of it, in the Gulf of Oman.”

      “To be sure!”

      “Why to be sure?” asked Tregomain.

      “Because if it is an island, it could not be on a continent, you bargeman!”

      This was said in a tone impossible to describe.

      “To-morrow,” added Antifer, “we will begin our preparations for departure.”

      “You are right!” said Juhel, resolved not to withstand his uncle.

      “We will see if there is a ship in the harbour bound for Port Said.”

      “That will be the best, for we have not a day to lose.”

      “No! They shall not steal my island from me.”

      “Oh, it will take a famous thief to do it!” answered Tregomain. And Antifer shrugged his shoulders again.

      “You will accompany me, Juhel.”

      “Yes, uncle,” said Juhel.

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