Their hostile relations, however, were almost immediately turned into friendly ones.  For Salve, who had seen the landlord making a rush towards him, felt himself suddenly, in the midst of the confusion caused by the darkness, seized by two men and forced towards a door leading in another direction than that in which he saw the stream was setting, and which no doubt was the way out.

“Help, Yankee! there’s some villany on here; the small door to the right!” he shouted, with great presence of mind, and at the same moment the door was slammed behind him.  A handkerchief was tied over his mouth; he was tripped up and brought heavily to the ground, where his feet and hands were tied, and he was then shot into a dark side-room, which seemed to be at the back of a press, that was unlatched to pass him through.

“H’m!” said the Yankee coolly, to himself.  “I am not going to lose his pay, if I know it,” and he set out accordingly in search of the police, with whom he had no outstanding account.

Salve was certain he had heard the senorita’s voice whispering in the outer room; and not long after he heard the latch in the press raised, and she stood before him with a light.  She looked at him mischievously, and spilt some oil out of the lamp on to his face with a little scornful laugh.  But her expression changed then to that of a tigress burning for revenge that is compelled to put off the gratification of her fury, and she darted out again, clapping down the latch behind her.

Salve lay tightly bound with his hands behind his back.  But his cat-like suppleness enabled him eventually to wriggle his sheath-knife out of his breast pocket, and he found no great difficulty then in freeing himself from his bonds.

He stood now with his knife in his hand and listened.

Before long he heard the American’s voice, with the police, and they appeared to be searching.  He shouted to them; and the next moment he was released.

“He is one of our crew—­belongs to the Stars and Stripes,” said the American, arresting Salve, who, as long as he got out of this accursed town now, did not care in what capacity it might be, and offered no opposition.

“You have not improved your beauty, my lad,” said his rescuer, derisively, as he held up the light to his face.

“I should like to have one word with the tavern-keeper before I go,” said Salve.

“And that is what we have not the slightest inclination for,” said the American—­who, it now appeared, was boatswain on board—­in a dry tone of authority.  “We are not going larking with the police.  Besides, having once recovered that trifle of wages, I don’t mean to risk losing it again.”

The Yankees made a close ring round their prisoner, and there was nothing for it but to follow as he was directed.  A look, however, at the boatswain gave him to understand that that question of the wages would be settled between them when they got on board.