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To Dyke this was an amazing and exciting narrative. But he did not on that account lose grip of his self-possession. Lest too much Spanish should betray him to Don Ildefonso, he took refuge in curtness.

“Bueno,” said he.”I’ll inform my captain.” Under his breath he ordered his men to push off and head back for the Cinco Llagas.

When Blood heard the tale and had digested his amazement, he laughed.

“So this is what that rogue would have told me if ever we met again.”Faith, it’s a satisfaction to be denied him.”

Ten minutes later the Cinco Llagas lay board and board with the Santa Barbara.

In the distance Easterling and his men, observing the operation, rested on their oars to stare and mutter. They saw themselves cheated of even the meagre satisfaction for which they had looked in the sinking of an unsuspected treasure. Easterling burst into fresh profanity.

“It’ll be that damned Spaniard I forgot in the cabin who’ll ha’ blabbed of the gold. Oh, ‘sdeath! This is what comes o’ being soft-hearted. If only I’d cut his throat now …”

Meanwhile, to Don Ildefonso, who had been able to make nothing of this boarding manoeuvre, Captain Blood, save for the light eyes in his bronzed face, looking every inch a Spaniard, and delivering himself in the impeccable Castilian of which he was master, was offering explanations.

He was unable to spare a crew to man the Santa Barbara, for his own following was insufficient. Nor dared he leave her afloat, since in that case she would be repossessed by the abominable pirates whom he had constrained to abandon her. It remained, therefore, before scuttling her only to transship the treasure with which Don Ildefonso informed him she was laden. At the same time he would be happy to offer Do
n Ildefonso and his six surviving hands the hospitality of the Cinco Llagas as far as Tortuga, or, if Don Ildefonso preferred it, as seemed probable, Captain Blood would seize a favourable moment for allowing them to take one of his boats and land themselves upon the coast of Hispaniola.

Now this speech was the most amazing thing that had yet happened to Don Ildefonso in that day of amazements.

“Tortuga!” he exclaimed.”Tortuga! You sail to Tortuga, do you say? But what to do there? In God’s name, who are you, then? What are you?”

“As for who I am, I am called Peter Blood. As for what I am, faith, I scarce know myself.”

“You are English!” cried the Spaniard in sudden horror of partial understanding.

“Ah, no. That, at least, I am not.” Captain Blood drew himself up with great dignity.”I have the honour to be Irish.”

“Ah, bah! Irish or English, it is all one.”

“Indeed and it is not. There’s all the difference in the world between the two.”

The Spaniard looked at him with angry eyes. His face was livid, his mouth scornful.”English or Irish, the truth is you are just a cursed pirate.”

Blood looked wistful. He fetched a sigh.”I’m afraid you are right,” he admitted.”It’s a thing I’ve sought to avoid. But what am I to do now, when Fate thrusts it upon me in this fashion, and insists that I make so excellent a beginning?”