He was blaming himself now for not having observed certain things before, or, at least, for not having studied them more closely, and he was busily connecting them with more recent observations made that very day.

He had observed, for instance, that Blood’s ship was named the Arabella, and he knew that Arabella was Miss Bishop’s name.  And he had observed all the odd particulars of the meeting of Captain Blood and Miss Bishop, and the curious change that meeting had wrought in each.

The lady had been monstrously uncivil to the Captain.  It was a very foolish attitude for a lady in her circumstances to adopt towards a man in Blood’s; and his lordship could not imagine Miss Bishop as normally foolish.  Yet, in spite of her rudeness, in spite of the fact that she was the niece of a man whom Blood must regard as his enemy, Miss Bishop and his lordship had been shown the utmost consideration aboard the Captain’s ship.  A cabin had been placed at the disposal of each, to which their scanty remaining belongings and Miss Bishop’s woman had been duly transferred.  They were given the freedom of the great cabin, and they had sat down to table with Pitt, the master, and Wolverstone, who was Blood’s lieutenant, both of whom had shown them the utmost courtesy.  Also there was the fact that Blood, himself, had kept almost studiously from intruding upon them.

His lordship’s mind went swiftly but carefully down these avenues of thought, observing and connecting.  Having exhausted them, he decided to seek additional information from Miss Bishop.  For this he must wait until Pitt and Wolverstone should have withdrawn.  He was hardly made to wait so long, for as Pitt rose from table to follow Wolverstone, who had already departed, Miss Bishop detained him with a question: 

“Mr. Pitt,” she asked, “were you not one of those who escaped from Barbados with Captain Blood?”

“I was.  I, too, was one of your uncle’s slaves.”

“And you have been with Captain Blood ever since?”

“His shipmaster always, ma’am.”

She nodded.  She was very calm and self-contained; but his lordship observed that she was unusually pale, though considering what she had that day undergone this afforded no matter for wonder.

“Did you ever sail with a Frenchman named Cahusac?”

“Cahusac?” Pitt laughed.  The name evoked a ridiculous memory.  “Aye.  He was with us at Maracaybo.”

“And another Frenchman named Levasseur?”

His lordship marvelled at her memory of these names.

“Aye.  Cahusac was Levasseur’s lieutenant, until he died.”

“Until who died?”

“Levasseur.  He was killed on one of the Virgin Islands two years ago.”

There was a pause.  Then, in an even quieter voice than before, Miss Bishop asked: 

“Who killed him?”

Pitt answered readily.  There was no reason why he should not, though he began to find the catechism intriguing.