“They have stacked the treasure there beyond the last window,” Plinny informed me, nodding towards the end of the verandah, where Captain Branscome, Mr. Rogers, and Mr. Goodfellow were already gathered and busy in conversation.  “In bulk it is less than we expected, but in value (the Doctor says) it goes beyond everything.  Three hundredweight, they say, and in pure gems!  He is to choose his share, by-and-by; and then we have to contrive how to take it down to the ship.”

“Miss Plinlimmon,” said the Captain, coming towards us, “you promised me a word yesterday.  I should wish to claim it now—­that is, if Harry can spare you.”

I observed that his voice shook a little, but this I set down to excitement.

“Did I?  Yes, I remember.”

Miss Plinlimmon’s voice, too, was tremulous.  She hesitated, and her eyes in the dim light seemed to seek mine.

I assured her that I was recovering fast, here in the fresh air, and that it would be a kindness, indeed, to leave me alone.  She bent quickly and kissed me.  I wondered why, as she stepped past the Captain and he followed her down the verandah steps.

I wished to be left alone.  I was puzzled, and what puzzled me was that neither Miss Belcher nor Dr. Beauregard had left the dining-room.  In fact, as I passed out through the window, happening to turn my head, I had caught sight of his face, and it had signalled to her to stay.  I knew not why he should intend harm to Miss Belcher rather than to any other of our party.  But I distrusted the man; and Plinny had scarcely left me before, having made sure that Mr. Rogers and Mr. Goodfellow were within easy call, I rose up softly, crept to the dining-room window, and, dropping upon hands and knees close by the wall, peered into the room.

The Doctor and Miss Belcher had reseated themselves, He had poured himself out another glass of wine and was holding it up to the light with a steady hand, while she watched him, her elbows on the table and her firm jaw resting on her clasped fingers.  Her face, though it showed no sign of fear, was pallid.

“Yes,” he was saying slowly; “it is too late at this hour to be discussing what the priests would call the sin of it.  You would never convince me; and if you convinced me, I am too old—­and too weary—­for what the priests call repentance.  I am Martin—­the same man that outwitted Melhuish and his crew—­the same that played Harry with this Glass, and the man Coffin, and a drunken old ruffian they brought with them from Whydah!  The fools! to think to frighten me, that had started by laying out a whole ship’s crew!  And now you come along; and I hold you all in the hollow of my palm.  But I open my hand—­so—­and let you go.”

“Why?”

“Why?  I have told you.  I am tired.”

“That is not all the truth,” answered Miss Belcher, eyeing him steadily.

“No; it is not all the truth.  No one tells all the truth in this world.  But I am glad you challenge me, for you shall have a little more of the truth.  I let you go because you were simpletons, and I had not dealt with simpletons before.”