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had become open mutinous talk. The Gulf of Honduras and the hope of a Don was muchmore to their taste than this cruising into British-patrolled waters. But Cheap struck through the channel and down toward the Windwards and in that was a measure of the man. For when a captain is elected by the common vote of his crew he can be as easily set aside, and yet none aboard the Naughty Lass had suggested that Cheap be removed.
    The sloop tried to run and, by accident or cruel design, she did win to the very edge of freedom before they sailed her down and with one raking shot lifted the mast out of her. The rest was butchery in which Cheap did not deign to take part. But when the long boat of the boarders pulled back to the Naughty Lass, leaving a gutted wreck half-awash behind them, there was the flash of a scarlet coat among them and Creagh called for a line to be dropped to haul up a prisoner.
    With as little ceremony as if he were a bale of goods or a net of supplies, the securely trussed body of a Queen’s officer was slung up and over the rail and landed with a thud on the deck. But there was fight yet in the fellow. His shoulders writhed as he tried to roll over and Scarface, without knowing just why, reached down to catch hold of a torn epaulet and pull the officer to his knees. So aided he won to his feet.
    He stood there, feet braced wide apart, swaying a little, a runnel of dark blood across his chin, his shaven head wigless to the sun. But there was nothing shrinking about that square chin or those level greenish eyes. He spat a clot of blood, showing for an instant a torn lip and broken teeth, and then he glanced from face to face of those hedging him in.

    “What is this, Creagh?” Cheap called from the after-deck.
    As he spoke the officer turned to face him. Creagh grinned.
    “A gift wot'll pleasure ye well, Cap'n. This foine soljer be one o’ ‘em as lives ‘igh at Barbados. Seein’ as ‘ow ye be thinkin’ o’ thar—”
    Cheap laughed. “So there be a wit or two in that thick skull of yours after all, Nat. Aye, this gift pleasures me. Speak up, fellow, who are you?”
    The officer cleared his throat and spat red for the second time before he answered steadily enough:
    “I am Major Humphrey Cocklyn of Her Majesty's service in the West Indies. Since your men did not slit my throat as they did the throats of those other poor devils I take it that you want ransom—”
    “Not so fast, my fine Major,” interrupted Cheap. “The questions are mine to ask. What were you doing at sea? Or has Her Majesty lately enrolled foot soldiers to serve her on the waves?”
    Cocklyn contrived to shrug, even with his arms bound torturously behind him.
    “I was on my way to Barbados with dispatches—”
    “Ahhh—” That was a sound of pure delight. Cheap's lips were parted, his long-fingered hands in spite of their weight of jeweled rings played a triumphant little tattoo on the rail. “Creagh, my bully, you have done better than I first thought. And where are these so important dispatches, Major?”
    Cocklyn's ill-used mouth stretched in a crooked smile.“Where you needs must now dive to read them. One of your men emptied the case overboard when he found no gold in it.”
    Cheap's hands were still. Then he nodded once as if in answer to a thought. But when he spoke his voice was silky and Scarface felt a familiar and dreaded chill between his shoulder blades.
    “But you, Major Cocklyn, doubtless know how went the messages?” he suggested.
    “Do I?” returned the Major, his voice still even and unhurried.
    Cheap laughed again. “If your memory betrays you we shall refresh it—speedily! I have good reason to wish to know all matters concerning Barbados. And I have the means of satisfying my curiosity. Several of my men are well schooled in the business of loosening too tight tongues—”
    Cocklyn coolly looked again at the ring of faces about him. “That I don't doubt. But when I say that I do not know what