“Now, you see it?  I brought you here, because words—­”

“Even yours, dear ‘King,’” I laughed.

“—­could not explain what I suggest for us to do.  You are interested in Tobias.  Tobias is interested in you.  I am interested in you both.  And Calypso and I have a treasure to guard.”

“I have still a treasure to seek,” I said, half to myself.

“Good enough,” said the “King.”  “Now, to be practical.  We can assume that Tobias is on the watch.  I don’t mean that he’s around here just now, for, before we left, I spoke to Samson and Erebus and they will pass the word to four men blacker than themselves; therefore we can assume that this square mile or so is for the moment ‘to ourselves.’  But beyond our fence you may rely that Tobias and his myrmidons—­is that the word?” he asked with a concession to his natural foolishness—­“are there.”

“So,” he went on, “I want you to go down to your boat to-morrow morning to say good-bye to the commandant, the parson, and the postmaster; to haul up your sail and head for Nassau.  Call in on Sweeney on the way, buy an extra box of cartridges, and say ’Dieu et mon Droit’—­it is our password; he will understand, but, if he shouldn’t, explain, in your own way, that you come from me, and that we rely upon him to look out for our interest.  Then head straight for Nassau; but, about eight o’clock, or anywhere around twilight, turn about and head—­well, we’ll map it out on the chart at home—­anywhere up to eight miles along the coast, till you come to a light, low down right on the edge of the water.  As soon as you see it, drop anchor; then wait till morning—­the very beginning of dawn.  As soon as you can see land, look out for Samson—­within a hundred yards of you—­all the land will look alike to you.  Only make the Captain head straight for Samson, and just as you think you are going to run ashore—­Well, you will see!”

CHAPTER IX

Old Friends.

Next morning I did as the “King” had told me to do.  The whole programme was carried out just as he had planned it.  I made my good-byes in the settlement, as we had arranged, not forgetting to say “Dieu et mon Droit” to Sweeney, and watching with some humorous intent how he would take it.  He took it quietly, as a man in a signal box takes a signal, with about as much emotion, and with just the same necessary seriousness.  But I suppose he felt that the circumstances justified a slight heightening of his usual indifference to all mortal things.

“Tell the boss,” he said—­of course he meant the “King”—­“that we are looking after him.  Nothing’ll slip through here, if we can help it.  Good luck!”

So I went down to the boat—­to old Tom once more, and the rest of our little crew, who had long since exhausted the attractions of their life ashore, and were glad, as I was, to “H’ist up the John B. Sail.”  We sang that classic chanty, as we went out with all our canvas spread to a lively northeast breeze—­and I realised once more how good the sea was for all manner of men, whatever their colour, for we all livened up and shook off our land-laziness again, spry and laughing, and as keen as the jib stretching out like a gull’s wing into the rush and spray of the sea.