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Still less could he be expected to recognize at once the courtly
gentleman who advanced to greet him - a lean, graceful gentleman,
dressed in the Spanish fashion, all in black with silver lace, a
gold-hilted sword dangling beside him from a gold embroidered
baldrick, a broad castor with a sweeping plume set above carefully
curled ringlets of deepest black.
"Be welcome aboard the Cinco Llagas, Colonel, darling," a voice
vaguely familiar addressed the planter. "We've made the best of
the Spaniards' wardrobe in honour of this visit, though it was
scarcely yourself we had dared hope to expect. You find yourself
among friends - old friends of yours, all." The Colonel stared in
stupefaction. Mr. Blood tricked out in all this splendour -
indulging therein his natural taste - his face carefully shaven,
his hair as carefully dressed, seemed transformed into a younger
man. The fact is he looked no more than the thirty-three years he
counted to his age.
"Peter Blood!" It was an ejaculation of amazement. Satisfaction
followed swiftly.


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