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..." The Spaniard broke off. His glance grew still more
troubled. "Valga me Dios!" he cried out, like a man in anguish.
"Will you tell me also that you are Don Diego de Espinosa?"
"Oh, no, my name is Blood - Captain Peter Blood. This ship, like
this handsome suit of clothes, is mine by right of conquest. Just
as you, Don Diego, are my prisoner."
Startling as was the explanation, yet it proved soothing to Don
Diego, being so much less startling than the things he was beginning
to imagine.
"But... Are you not Spanish, then?"
"You flatter my Castilian accent. I have the honour to be Irish.
You were thinking that a miracle had happened. So it has - a
miracle wrought by my genius, which is considerable."
Succinctly now Captain Blood dispelled the mystery by a relation of
the facts. It was a narrative that painted red and white by turns
the Spaniard's countenance. He put a hand to the back of his head,
and there discovered, in confirmation of the story, a lump as large
as a pigeon's egg. Lastly, he stared wild-eyed at the sardonic
Captain Blood.


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