I shifted my position so as to gain a clearer view of his face.  I was still wholly at sea as to what the fellow was driving at—­yet, evidently enough he was in earnest.  It was my part to find out.

“Not altogether bad,” I admitted.  “I have been in some games of chance before.”

“I thought as much,” eagerly, “and money has the same chink however it be earned.  You could use some?”

“If I had any to use; after a sailor has been drunk there is not apt to be much left in his pockets.”

He reached across into the upper bunk, and brought forth a bottle and glass, placing these upon the table at his elbow.

“Have a drink first,” he said, pouring it out.  “It will stiffen your nerve.”

“Thanks, no, Senor.  I have nerve enough and once I start that sort of thing there is no stopping.  Take it yourself and then tell me what is in the wind.”

“I will, Gates,” affecting cordiality, although I somehow felt that my refusal to imbibe had aroused a faint suspicion in his mind.  “But I would rather you would show yourself a good fellow.  I like to see a man take his liquor and hold it.”

He sat down the emptied glass, and straightened back in the chair, his eyes searching as ever.

“The fact is,” he began doubtfully, “what you just said to me on deck chanced to be of interest.  You were not boasting?”

“I answered your questions truthfully, if that is what you mean.”

“You are a navigator?”

“I was in command of ships for four years, Senor; naturally I know navigation.”

“Do you mind if I test you?”

“Not in the least; although it will have to be in English; as I do not know the Spanish sea terms.”

“Let that go then; I will soon learn if you have lied, and that will be a sorry day for you.  I’ll tell you, Gates, how matters stand aboard, and why I have need of your skill.  Then you may take your choice—­the forecastle, or the cabin?”

“You invite me aft, Senor?”

“I give you a chance to move your dunnage, if you will do my work,” he explained seriously.  “Listen now.  Sanchez has been badly hurt.  It may be weeks before he leaves his cabin, if, indeed, he ever does.  That leaves me in command with but one officer, the mulatto, LeVere.  This might answer to take us safely to Porto Grande, as we could stand watch and watch, but Francois is no sailor.  It was his part on board to train and lead the fighting men—­he cannot navigate.  Saint Christopher!  I fear to leave him alone in charge of the deck while I snatch an hour’s sleep.”

“I see,” I admitted.  “And yourself, Senor?  You are a seaman?”

He hated to confess, yet my eyes were honest, and met his squarely.

“Enough to get along, but not quite sure as to my figures.  I have taken no sights, except as we came north, on this trip.  ’Tis for this reason I need you—­but you will play me no smart English trick, my man, or I’ll have you by the heels at once.  I know enough to verify your figures.”