pine. If there were any living thing on Lance Falcon's ship, it kept itself hidden and it made no sound. Yet somehow Lachlan knew suddenly, with a queer tingling of his spine, that unseen eyes were fixed upon him.
The knowledge startled yet steadied him. His left hand left his sword-hilt and, sweeping off his hat, he bowed low.
"By our Lady, Captain Falcon," he said in Spanish, "yours is a merry ship! For a moment I thought I had stepped into a tomb."
There followed several seconds of silence. Then a tall form detached itself from the shadows, and a deep voice spoke out of the darkness.
"Welcome, Don Ruy Ortiz," it said. "I have been waiting for you. It is generally the custom of my visitors to ask my permission before they tread my deck."
Lachlan laughed easily.
"A thousand pardons," he replied, "if I have transgressed a rule of the sea. I know little of such matters."
His tone changed suddenly, became stern and hard as steel.
"As for your permission, Captain Falcon, I came not here to seek favours. If you like not the manner of my coming, there are those who, perhaps, can alter your tastes."
It was a bold stroke. For a tense moment Lachlan awaited its effect, his hand once more on his sword-
