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"And my son? What of my son?" he cried out. "He was in the boat
that brought me aboard."
"Your son is safe; he and the boat's crew together with your gunner
and his men are snugly in irons under hatches."
Don Diego sank back on the couch, his glittering dark eyes fixed
upon the tawny face above him. He composed himself. After all, he
possessed the stoicism proper to his desperate trade. The dice had
fallen against him in this venture. The tables had been turned upon
him in the very moment of success. He accepted the situation with
the fortitude of a fatalist.
With the utmost calm he enquired:
"And now, Senior Capitan?"
"And now," said Captain Blood - to give him the title he had assumed
- "being a humane man, I am sorry to find that ye're not dead from
the tap we gave you. For it means that you'll be put to the trouble
of dying all over again."
"Ah!" Don Diego drew a deep breath. "But is that necessary?" he
asked, without apparent perturbation.
Captain Blood's blue eyes approved his bearing. "Ask yourself," said
he.


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