As the little man stepped from the ladder into the waist, whither Captain Blood had gone to receive him, his sharp, ferrety dark eyes swept the uncouth ranks of the assembled crew of the Arabella.

“And where the devil may I be now?” he demanded irritably.  “Are you English, or what the devil are you?”

“Myself, I have the honour to be Irish, sir.  My name is Blood — Captain Peter Blood, and this is my ship the Arabella, all very much at your service.

“Blood!” shrilled the little man.  “O ’Sblood!  A pirate!” He swung to the Colossus who followed him — “A damned pirate, van der Kuylen.  Rend my vitals, but we’re come from Scylla to Charybdis.”

“So?” said the other gutturally, and again, “So?” Then the humour of it took him, and he yielded to it.

“Damme!  What’s to laugh at, you porpoise?” spluttered mulberry-coat.  “A fine tale this’ll make at home!  Admiral van der Kuylen first loses his fleet in the night, then has his flagship fired under him by a French squadron, and ends all by being captured by a pirate.  I’m glad you find it matter for laughter.  Since for my sins I happen to be with you, I’m damned if I do.”

“There’s a misapprehension, if I may make so bold as to point it out,” put in Blood quietly.  “You are not captured, gentlemen; you are rescued.  When you realize it, perhaps it will occur to you to acknowledge the hospitality I am offering you.  It may be poor, but it is the best at my disposal.”

The fierce little gentleman stared at him.  “Damme!  Do you permit yourself to be ironical?” he disapproved him, and possibly with a view to correcting any such tendency, proceeded to introduce himself.  “I am Lord Willoughby, King William’s Governor-General of the West Indies, and this is Admiral van der Kuylen, commander of His Majesty’s West Indian fleet, at present mislaid somewhere in this damned Caribbean Sea.”

“King William?” quoth Blood, and he was conscious that Pitt and Dyke, who were behind him, now came edging nearer, sharing his own wonder.  “And who may be King William, and of what may he be King?”

“What’s that?” In a wonder greater than his own, Lord Willoughby stared back at him.  At last:  “I am alluding to His Majesty King William III — William of Orange — who, with Queen Mary, has been ruling England for two months and more.”

There was a moment’s silence, until Blood realized what he was being told.

“D’ye mean, sir, that they’ve roused themselves at home, and kicked out that scoundrel James and his gang of ruffians?”

Admiral van der Kuylen nudged his lordship, a humourous twinkle in his blue eyes.

“His bolitics are fery sound, I dink,” he growled.

His lordship’s smile brought lines like gashes into his leathery cheeks. “’Slife! hadn’t you heard?  Where the devil have you been at all?”

“Out of touch with the world for the last three months,” said Blood.