“Thanks, Senorita—­thanks,” he began softly, and again bowing before her, cap in hand.  “We greet you with due honor aboard the Namur—­”

“Enough of that, you coward, you murderer,” she broke in coldly.  “Do not touch nor speak to me.”

She turned her back on him, thus coming face to face with LeVere, who stood enjoying the scene, a wide grin on his dark face, revealing a row of white teeth under a jet-black moustache.

“You, sir—­you are an officer?”

“I have charge of the deck.”

“Then where am I to go?”

The mulatto, surprised by the sudden question, glanced inquiringly toward Estada, who had already completely lost his sense of humor.

“Go!” the latter growled.  “Where is she to go?  Why send the wench below.  I’ll see to her later, and teach her who is the master here.  She will not queen it long on these decks, I warrant you.  Off with her now, but be back quickly.”  He leaned out over the rail, sending his gruff voice below.  “Send up that chest, you men—­careful now not to let it drop overboard.  Yes, that’s better.  Hook on the boat, Manuel, and let her drag; we must get out of here in a hurry.  All ready, aloft?”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“Then sheet home; how is it forrard?”

“Both anchors apeak, sir.”

“Smartly done—­hard down with your helm there!  That’s it; now let her play off slowly.”

He must have caught sight of me through the gloom, for he strode furiously forward, giving utterance to a bristling Spanish oath.  All the savage brutality of his nature had been brought to the surface by Dorothy’s stinging words, and he sought now some fit opportunity to give it vent.  Before I could move, he had gripped me by the collar, and swung me about, so that the light streaming out from the cabin fell directly on my face.

“What the devil are you doing, loafing aft here?” he demanded roughly, staring into my eyes.  “Didn’t you hear the orders, you damned shirker?  I’ve seen you hanging about for ten minutes, never lifting a hand.  Who the hell are you anyhow—­the captain?”

“Joe Gates, sir.”

“Gates—­another damned Englishman!  How did you ever get aboard here?”

It was the returning LeVere who made explanation before I could reply.

“Manuel brought him on board last night.  Picked him up drunk ashore.”

Estada’s ugly eyes roved from face to face, as though he failed to fully comprehend.

“Well, does he imagine he is going to be a passenger?  Why hasn’t he been taught his place before this?  It’s about time, LeVere, for this drunken sailor to be given a lesson to last him for awhile; and, by God, if you won’t do it, I will.  Step over here, Gates.”

I took the necessary step forward, and faced him, expecting the rabid tongue lashing, which I rather felt I deserved.

“Now, my man, do you know what this bark is?”