“I am Don Miguel de Espinosa,” he was answered.  “Admiral of the Navies of the Catholic King.”

Lord Julian gasped.  If Spain made such a hubbub about the depredations of a runagate adventurer like Captain Blood, what could not England answer now?

“Will you tell me, then, why you behave like a damned pirate?” he asked.  And added:  “I hope you realize what will be the consequences, and the strict account to which you shall be brought for this day’s work, for the blood you have murderously shed, and for your violence to this lady and to myself.”

“I offer you no violence,” said the Admiral, smiling, as only the man who holds the trumps can smile.  “On the contrary, I have saved your lives....”

“Saved our lives!” Lord Julian was momentarily speechless before such callous impudence.  “And what of the lives you have destroyed in wanton butchery?  By God, man, they shall cost you dear.”

Don Miguel’s smile persisted.  “It is possible.  All things are possible.  Meantime it is your own lives that will cost you dear.  Colonel Bishop is a rich man; and you, milord, are no doubt also rich.  I will consider and fix your ransom.”

“So that you’re just the damned murderous pirate I was supposing you,” stormed his lordship.  “And you have the impudence to call yourself the Admiral of the Navies of the Catholic King?  We shall see what your Catholic King will have to say to it.”

The Admiral ceased to smile.  He revealed something of the rage that had eaten into his brain.  “You do not understand,” he said.  “It is that I treat you English heretic dogs just as you English heretic dogs have treated Spaniards upon the seas — you robbers and thieves out of hell!  I have the honesty to do it in my own name — but you, you perfidious beasts, you send your Captain Bloods, your Hagthorpes, and your Morgans against us and disclaim responsibility for what they do.  Like Pilate, you wash your hands.”  He laughed savagely.  “Let Spain play the part of Pilate.  Let her disclaim responsibility for me, when your ambassador at the Escurial shall go whining to the Supreme Council of this act of piracy by Don Miguel de Espinosa.”

“Captain Blood and the rest are not admirals of England!” cried Lord Julian.

“Are they not?  How do I know?  How does Spain know?  Are you not liars all, you English heretics?”

“Sir!” Lord Julian’s voice was harsh as a rasp, his eyes flashed.  Instinctively he swung a hand to the place where his sword habitually hung.  Then he shrugged and sneered:  “Of course,” said he, “it sorts with all I have heard of Spanish honour and all that I have seen of yours that you should insult a man who is unarmed and your prisoner.”

The Admiral’s face flamed scarlet.  He half raised his hand to strike.  And then, restrained, perhaps, by the very words that had cloaked the retorting insult, he turned on his heel abruptly and went out without answering.