Then he took thought.  He was still sure that he was on board the schooner that had run him down.  He remembered the warning of St. Luc against Adrian Van Zoon, and Adrian Van Zoon’s suggestion that he row his own boat across to Paulus Hook.  But it seemed incredible.  A merchant, a rich man of high standing in New York, could not plan his murder.  Where was the motive?  And, if such a motive did exist, a man of Van Zoon’s standing could not afford to take so great a risk.  In spite of St. Luc and his faith in him he dismissed it as an impossibility.  If Van Zoon had wished his death he would not have been taken out of the river.  He must seek elsewhere the reason of his present state.

He listened attentively, and it seemed to him that the creaking and groaning of the cordage increased.  Once or twice he thought he heard footsteps over his head, but he concluded that it was merely the imagination.  Then, after an interminable period of waiting, the door to the room opened and a man carrying a ship’s lantern entered, followed closely by another.  Robert was able to turn on his side and stare at them.

The one who carried the lantern was short, very dark, and had gold rings in his ears.  Robert judged him to be a Portuguese.  But his attention quickly passed to the man behind him, who was much taller, rather spare, his face clean shaven, his hard blue eyes set close together.  Robert knew instinctively that he was master of the ship.

“Hold up the lantern, Miguel,” the tall man said, “and let’s have a look at him.”

The Portuguese obeyed.

Then Robert felt the hard blue eyes fastened upon him, but he raised himself as much as he could and gave back the gaze fearlessly.

“Well, how’s our sailorman?” said the captain, laughing, and his laughter was hideous to the prisoner.

“I don’t understand you,” said Robert.

“My meaning is plain enough, I take it.”

“I demand that you set me free at once and restore me to my friends in New York.”

The tall man laughed until he held his sides, and the short man laughed with him, laugh for laugh.  Their laughter so filled Robert with loathing and hate that he would have attacked them both had he been unbound.

“Come now, Peter,” said the captain at last.  “Enough of your grand manner.  You carry it well for a common sailor, and old Nick himself knows where you got your fine clothes, but here you are back among your old comrades, and you ought to be glad to see ’em.”

“What do you mean?” asked the astonished Robert.

“Now, don’t look so surprised.  You can keep up a play too long.  You know as well as we do that you’re plain Peter Smith, an able young sailorman, when you’re willing, who deserted us in Baltimore three months ago, and you with a year yet to serve.  And here’s your particular comrade, Miguel, so glad to see you.  When we ran your boat down, all your own fault, too, Miguel jumped overboard, and he didn’t dream that the lad he was risking his life to save was his old chum.  Oh, ’twas a pretty reunion!  And now, Peter, thank Miguel for bringing you back to life and to us.”