"You will want to see Slade first, I presume," said the captain.
"One of your officers whom I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting?"
The captain stared. "Slade," he said. "Ralph Slade."
"Apparently there's a missing link. Or—I fear I was not wholly myself yesterday for a time. Possibly something occurred that I did not quite take in."
"Perhaps we'd better wait," said Captain Parkinson, with obvious misgiving. "You're not quite rested. You will feel more like"
"If you don't mind," said Darrow composedly, "I'd like to get at this thing now. I'm in excellent understanding, I assure you."
"Very well. I am speaking of the man who acted as mate in the Laughing Lass. The journalist who—good heavens! What arrant stupidity! I have to beg your pardon, Mr. Darrow. It has just occurred to me. He called himself Eagen with you."
"Eagen! What is this? Is Eagen alive?"
"And on this ship. We picked him up in an open boat."
"And you say he calls himself Slade?"
"He is Ralph Slade, adventurer and journalist. Mr. Barnett knows him and vouches for him."
"And he was on our island under an assumed name," said Darrow in tones that had the smoothness and the rasp of silk. "Rather annoying. Not good form, quite, even for a pirate."
"Yet, I believe he saved your life," suggested the captain.
