“Don’t talk like a native!  H’m!  Queer!  Turn him inside out!  No nonsense!”

“Well, here I am,” he added, stepping up to Desmond.  “My name’s Johnson, and I’m harbor master.  Now then, explain; no nonsense.”

Desmond liked the look of the little man.  He was short and stout, with a very large red face, a broad turn-up nose, and childlike blue eyes that bespoke confidence at once.

“My name is Desmond Burke, sir, and I’ve run away from Gheria in this grab.”

“The deuce you have!”

“Yes, sir.  I’ve been a prisoner there for six months and more, and we got off a few nights ago in the darkness.”

“H’m!  Any more Irishmen aboard?”

“Not that I’m aware of, sir.”

“And you got away from Gheria, did you?  You’re the first that ever I heard did so.  Nothing to do with Commodore James, eh?”

“No, sir.  I don’t know what you mean.”

“Why, Commodore James started t’other day to take a good sea-look at Gheria.  There’s an expedition getting ready to draw that rascally Pirate’s teeth.  You saw nothing of the squadron?  No nonsense, now.”

“Not a thing, sir.  We were blown out to sea, and I suppose the commodore passed us in the night.”

“H’m!  Very likely.  And you weathered that storm, did you?  Learned your seamanship, eh?”

“Picked up a little on board the Good Intent, sir.  I was ship’s boy aboard.”

“Mighty queer ship’s boy!” said Mr. Johnson in an audible aside.  “The Good Intent’s a villainous interloper; how came you aboard of her?”

“I was in a sense tricked into it, sir, and when we got to Gheria Captain Barker and Mr. Diggle, the supercargo, sold me to Angria.”

“Sold you to the Pirate?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And where do you hail from, then?”

“Shropshire, sir; my father was Captain Richard Burke in the Company’s service.”

“Jupiter!  You’re Dick Burke’s son!  Gad, sir, give me your hand; I knew Dick Burke; many’s the sneaker of Bombay punch we’ve tossed off together.  No nonsense about Dick; give me your fist.

“And so you sneaked out of Gheria and sailed this grab, eh?  Well, you’re a chip of the old block, and a credit to your old dad.  I want to hear all about this.  And you’ll have to come ashore and see the governor.”

“It’s very kind of you, Mr. Johnson, but really I can’t appear before the governor in this rig.”

He glanced ruefully at his bare legs and feet and tattered garments.

“True, you en’t very shipshape, but we’ll soon alter that.  Ever use a razor?”

“Not yet, sir,” replied Desmond with a smile.

“Thought not.  Plenty of native barbers.  You must get shaved.  And I’ll rig you up in a suit of some sort.  You must see the governor at once, and no nonsense.”

“What about the grab, sir?”

“Leave that to me.  You’ve got a pretty mixed crew, I see.  All escaped prisoners, too?”