“Why not?  Haven’t I been a daily visitor at the fort...?”

“But it’ll be about the Old Wolf that he wants to see you.  It gives him a grievance at last.  You know, Peter, that it is Lord Julian alone has stood between Bishop and his hate of you.  If now he can show that....”

“What if he can?” Blood interrupted carelessly.  “Shall I be in greater danger ashore than aboard, now that we’ve but fifty men left, and they lukewarm rogues who would as soon serve the King as me?  Jeremy, dear lad, the Arabella’s a prisoner here, bedad, ’twixt the fort there and the fleet yonder.  Don’t be forgetting that.”

Jeremy clenched his hands.  “Why did ye let Wolverstone and the others go?” he cried, with a touch of bitterness.  “You should have seen the danger.”

“How could I in honesty have detained them?  It was in the bargain.  Besides, how could their staying have helped me?” And as Pitt did not answer him:  “Ye see?” he said, and shrugged.  “I’ll be getting my hat and cane and sword, and go ashore in the cock-boat.  See it manned for me.”

“Ye’re going to deliver yourself into Bishop’s hands,” Pitt warned him.

“Well, well, maybe he’ll not find me quite so easy to grasp as he imagines.  There’s a thorn or two left on me.”  And with a laugh Blood departed to his cabin.

Jeremy Pitt answered the laugh with an oath.  A moment he stood irresolute where Blood had left him.  Then slowly, reluctance dragging at his feet, he went down the companion to give the order for the cock-boat.

“If anything should happen to you, Peter,” he said, as Blood was going over the side, “Colonel Bishop had better look to himself.  These fifty lads may be lukewarm at present, as you say, but — sink me! — they’ll be anything but lukewarm if there’s a breach of faith.”

“And what should be happening to me, Jeremy?  Sure, now, I’ll be back for dinner, so I will.”

Blood climbed down into the waiting boat.  But laugh though he might, he knew as well as Pitt that in going ashore that morning he carried his life in his hands.  Because of this, it may have been that when he stepped on to the narrow mole, in the shadow of the shallow outer wall of the fort through whose crenels were thrust the black noses of its heavy guns, he gave order that the boat should stay for him at that spot.  He realized that he might have to retreat in a hurry.

Walking leisurely, he skirted the embattled wall, and passed through the great gates into the courtyard.  Half-a-dozen soldiers lounged there, and in the shadow cast by the wall, Major Mallard, the Commandant, was slowly pacing.  He stopped short at sight of Captain Blood, and saluted him, as was his due, but the smile that lifted the officer’s stiff mostachios was grimly sardonic.  Peter Blood’s attention, however, was elsewhere.

On his right stretched a spacious garden, beyond which rose the white house that was the residence of the Deputy-Governor.  In that garden’s main avenue, that was fringed with palm and sandalwood, he had caught sight of Miss Bishop alone.  He crossed the courtyard with suddenly lengthened stride.