The schooner came racing on, and rounded to with a beautiful sweep just out of reach of our guns.  Practice had made him perfect.  He knew his damnable business to the last link in the chain.

We could see his deck black with men, and presently a boat dropped neatly and came bounding towards us.

“Depress your carronades and discharge them,” ordered a black-bearded young man in her, in excellent English, as they hooked on.  “If one is withdrawn, we will blow you out of the water.”

The guns were discharged.  The schooner gave a coquettish shake and came sweeping down alongside the Indiaman; some of her crew leaped into our main chains, and lashed the two ships together.  Then a mob of rough-looking rascals came swarming up our side, and at their head was one at sight of whom my breath caught in my throat, and I rubbed my eyes in startled amazement, lest their forty-eight hours’ salting should have set them astray.

But they told true, and a black horror and a cold fear fell upon me.  I saw the bloody scum swirling round on the Swallow’s deck as she sank.  I saw the heads of my struggling shipmates disappearing one by one under those felon shots from the schooner.  I saw once more that little round hole bore itself in John Ozanne’s forehead on the spar.  And I knew that there was not room on earth for this man and me.  I knew that if he caught sight of me I was a dead man.

For the last time I had seen that grim black face—­which was also the first time—­he was leaning over the rock wall of Herm, watching me steadfastly as I pulled away from him towards Peter Port, and his face was stamped clear on my memory for all time.

It was Torode of Herm, and in a flash I saw to the bottom of his treachery and my own great peril.  No wonder he was so successful and came back full from every cruise, when others brought only tales of empty seas.  He lived in security on British soil and played tinder both flags.  By means of a quickly assumed disguise, he robbed British ships as a Frenchman, and French ships as an Englishman.  That explained to the full the sinking of the Swallow and the extermination of her crew.  It was to him a matter of life or death.  If one escaped with knowledge of the facts, the devilment must end.  And I was that one man.

His keen black eyes had swept over us as he came over the side.  I shrank small and prayed God he had not seen me.

He walked up to the captain and said gruffly, “You are a, wise man, monsieur.  It is no good fighting against the impossible.”

“I know it, or I’d have seen you damned before I’d have struck to you,” growled the old man sourly.

“Quite so!  Now, your papers, if you please, and quick!” and the captain turned to go for them.

All this I heard mazily, for my head was still whirring with its discovery.

Then, without a sign of warning, like one jerked by sudden instinct, Torode turned, pushed through the double row of men behind whom I had shrunk—­and they opened quickly enough at his approach—­and raising his great fist struck me to the deck like an ox.