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Updated: May 8, 2025
A flash of reason illumined Butler-Vinson's drink-soddened mind. He hesitated, drew back with a frightened look. "Didn't I hear just now that this boat goes to Calais?" A passing sailor heard this question. He was about to enlighten Butler-Vinson, but Juve pushed him aside this imbecile was going to spoil everything! "No, old fellow, you are quite mistaken!
Before leading him to his cell, they dumped their inanimate prisoner on a chair in the porter's lodge.... The porter brought vinegar. They rubbed Butler-Vinson's temples with it. A jailor slapped his hands. In vain! The prisoner showed no signs of life! "You had better take him to his cell," advised the porter. "Perhaps he will come to his senses if laid on his palliasse?
The sea was rough: a strong wind from the south-west had been blowing all the afternoon. The boat began to pitch and toss: the passengers were drenched. Though nothing of a sailor in the nautical sense, Juve took his duckings with equanimity: a bit of a pitch and toss would keep Vinson occupied. The fog was Juve's friend: it lent an air of vagueness, of confusion, to Butler-Vinson's surroundings.
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