Bishop rapped out an oath, and then, shaken by a sudden fear:  “Who the devil may you be?” he asked.

“I am Lord Willoughby, Governor General of His Majesty’s colonies in the West Indies.  You were informed, I think, of my coming.”

The remains of Bishop’s anger fell from him like a cloak.  He broke into a sweat of fear.  Behind him Lord Julian looked on, his handsome face suddenly white and drawn.

“But, my lord...” began the Colonel.

“Sir, I am not concerned to hear your reasons,” his lordship interrupted him harshly.  “I am on the point of sailing and I have not the time.  The Governor will hear you, and no doubt deal justly by you.”  He waved to Major Mallard, and Bishop, a crumpled, broken man, allowed himself to be led away.

To Lord Julian, who went with him, since none deterred him, Bishop expressed himself when presently he had sufficiently recovered.

“This is one more item to the account of that scoundrel Blood,” he said, through his teeth.  “My God, what a reckoning there will be when we meet!”

Major Mallard turned away his face that he might conceal his smile, and without further words led him a prisoner to the Governor’s house, the house that so long had been Colonel Bishop’s own residence.  He was left to wait under guard in the hall, whilst Major Mallard went ahead to announce him.

Miss Bishop was still with Peter Blood when Major Mallard entered.  His announcement startled them back to realities.

“You will be merciful with him.  You will spare him all you can for my sake, Peter,” she pleaded.

“To be sure I will,” said Blood.  “But I’m afraid the circumstances won’t.”

She effaced herself, escaping into the garden, and Major Mallard fetched the Colonel.

“His excellency the Governor will see you now,” said he, and threw wide the door.

Colonel Bishop staggered in, and stood waiting.

At the table sat a man of whom nothing was visible but the top of a carefully curled black head.  Then this head was raised, and a pair of blue eyes solemnly regarded the prisoner.  Colonel Bishop made a noise in his throat, and, paralyzed by amazement, stared into the face of his excellency the Deputy-Governor of Jamaica, which was the face of the man he had been hunting in Tortuga to his present undoing.

The situation was best expressed to Lord Willoughby by van der Kuylen as the pair stepped aboard the Admiral’s flagship.

“Id is fery boedigal!” he said, his blue eyes twinkling.  “Cabdain Blood is fond of boedry — you remember de abble-blossoms.  So?  Ha, ha!”