board this ship and know neither her business here nor why she has behaved in a fashion that makes me blush for her flag—which, by the way, I have every reason to abominate."
"O, come now! You're trying it on. It's a yard-arm matter and I don't blame you, to be sure. Cap'n sank the mails?"
"There were none to sink, I believe."
He conned me curiously.
"You don't look like a Britisher, either."
"I trust not. I am the Viscount Anne de Kéroual de St. Yves, escaped from a British war-prison."
"Lucky for you if you prove it. We'll get to the bottom of this." He faced about and called, "Who's the first officer of this brig?"
Reuben Colenso was allowed to step forward. Blood from a scalp-wound had run and caked on his right cheek, but he stepped squarely enough.
"Bring him below," Captain Seccombe commanded. "And you, Mr. What's-your-name, lead the way. It's one or the other of us will get the hang of this affair."
He seated himself at the head of the table in the main cabin, and spat ceremoniously on the floor.
"Now, sir, you are, or were, first officer of this brig?"
The prisoner, standing between his two guards, gripped his stocking-cap nervously. "Will you please to tell me, sir, if my father is killed?"
"Seth, my lad, I want room." One of the guards, a strapping youngster, stepped and flung open a pane of the stern window. Captain Seccombe spat out of it with nonchalant dexterity before answering:
"I guess he is. Brig's name?"
"The Lady Napean."
"Mail packet?"
