Several times he put his hand in the back part of his trousers, touching a long, metallic bulk.  He was only awaiting the nightfall to carry out a certain idea that had clamped itself between his two eyebrows like a painful nail.  Whilst he was not carrying it forward he could not be tranquil.

The voice of his good counselor protested:  “Don’t do anything idiotic, Ferragut; don’t hunt the enemy, don’t provoke him.  Simply defend yourself, nothing more.”

But that reckless courage which in times gone by had made him embark on vessels destined to shipwreck, and had pushed him toward danger for the mere pleasure of conquering it, was now crying louder than prudence.

“In my own country!” he kept saying continually.  “To try to assassinate me when I am on my own land!...  I’ll just show them that I am a Spaniard....”

He knew well that waterfront saloon mentioned by Freya.  Two men in his crew had given him some fresh information.  The customers of the bar were poor Germans accustomed to endless drinking.  Some one was paying for them, and on certain days even permitted them to invite the skippers of the fishing boats and tramp vessels.  A gramophone was continually playing there, grinding out shrill songs to which the guests responded in roaring chorus.  When war news favorable to the German Empire was received, the songs and drinking would redouble until midnight and the shrill music-box would never stop for an instant.  On the walls were portraits of William II and various chromos of his generals.  The proprietor of the bar, a fat-legged German with square head, stiff hair and drooping mustache, used to answer to the nickname of Hindenburg.

The sailor grinned at the mere thought of putting that Hindenburg underneath his own counter....  He’d just like to see this establishment where his name had been uttered so many times!

At nightfall, his feet took him toward the bar with an irresistible impulse which disdained all counsels of prudence.

The glass door resisted his nervous hands, perhaps because he handled the latch with too much force.  And the captain finally opened it by giving a kick to its lower part, made of wood.

The panes almost flew out from the shock of this brutal blow.  A magnificent entrance!...  He saw much smoke, perforated by the red stars of three electric bulbs which had just been lit, and men around the various tables, facing him or with their backs turned.  The gramophone was shrilling in a nasal tone like an old woman without teeth.  Back of the counter appeared Hindenburg, his throat open, sleeves rolled up over arms as fat as legs.

“I am Captain Ulysses Ferragut.”

The voice that said this had a power similar to that of the magic words of Oriental tales which held the life of an entire city in suspense, leaving persons and objects immovable in the very attitude in which the powerful conjurer surprised them.