“Now ye be lyin’,” said the skipper, coolly.  “Ye telled the truth about Dick Lynch; but now ye lie.  Don’t ye try to fool wid me, damn ye!  Ye come to Chance Along widout leavin’ a word behind ye.  I sees the lie in yer face.”

“I left Dick Lynch behind me,” said the sailor.

That shook the skipper’s assurance; but he was in no mood to feel fear for more than a moment.  He laughed sneeringly and began to unload his captive’s pockets.  He took out the pistols, admired them and laid them aside.  Next, he unearthed a few cakes of hard bread, a small flask of brandy, and a pipe and half a plug of tobacco.

“How’d ye come to Chance Along, anyhow?  Where bes yer boat?” he asked, suddenly, pausing in his work.

“I walked across from Witless Bay,” said Darling.

“Where bes yer boat?” asked the other.

“In Witless Bay, you fool!  Do you think I carried it across my back?”

The skipper swung the lantern back and glanced at the soles of the other’s boots.

“Ye bes a liar—­and a desperate poor one at that,” he said.  “Where bes yer boat?”

John Darling lost his temper.  He disliked being forced into telling a lie—­and, being human, he disliked still more to have the lie discovered and the effort wasted.

“Go to hell and find it, you black-faced pirate!” he roared.

The skipper stopped, glared down at him, and swung his right hand back for a blow.

“Hit away, I’m tied,” said the other, without flinching.

The skipper let his hand sink to his side.

“I don’t hit a tied man.  That bain’t my way,” he said, flushing darkly.

“Untie me, then, and you can hit all you want to.  Cut these ropes and let me at you.  Come now, for I see that you have some sense of manliness in you, after all.”

“Not jist now.  To-morrow, maybe—­or maybe next day—­I’ll fight ye.  And, by hell, when I do I’ll kill ye wid me two hands!”

“I’ll take the chance.  Unless you starve me or cripple me in the meantime, I’ll knock the everlasting life out of you.”

The skipper growled and took up his interrupted work of investigating the other’s pockets.  He unbuttoned the heavy reefer and thrust a hand into an inner pocket.  In a second he withdrew it, holding the little casket bound in red leather.  A cry of astonishment escaped him.  He pressed the catch with his thumb and the diamonds and rubies flashed and glowed beneath his dazzled eyes.

“Me own diamonds!” he cried.  “Holy saints alive, me own diamonds!  Where’d ye find ’em?  Tell me that, now—­where’d ye find ’em?”

Darling did not reply for a moment.  Then, speaking quietly and somewhat bitterly, he said, “If you really want to know, I found them on a dead man, under the cliff a few miles to the north of here.”

“That would be Foxey Jack Quinn,” said the skipper.  He closed the box and put it in his pocket, then took up the lantern and went out, locking the door behind him.