For some few moments Carew sat on the opposite bunk, watching the sailor's face musingly. Then, rising, he addressed him in French. "I will fetch you a glass of rum. It will do you good."

"I thank you much, sir," said the man, in the same language; "I should like it, for I still feel very faint."

He drank a rather large dose of the spirit, and under its influence the colour quickly returned to his cheek, and the scared look left his face.

"You can now go into the forecastle and wash yourself," said Carew. "You will find a jersey and a coat hanging up there; put them on." These had belonged to the drowned sailor, Jim.

When the Frenchman returned to the cabin cleansed of bloodstains and decently clothed, the solicitor was surprised to see what a respectable-looking fellow he was. He might well have been a gentleman from his appearance, and his hands, though brown and roughened by work, were small and finely shaped.

"How do you feel now?"

"Thanks to you, sir, I am now quite myself again."

After a pause, Carew said, with a smile, "I never before saw such abject terror in a man's face as there was in yours when you were running down the quay."

"That bloodthirsty canaille was enough to inspire terror. Ah, if I could but get hold of that man who hit me with the stick! It was horrible, to run down all those streets for life with that yelping pack after me. I had no chance with them, though I am a good runner; for so soon as the brutes wearied and lagged behind, fresh ones joined the crowd at every corner. Ah, monsieur, I think you would have exhibited as much terror yourself."

"Not quite as much, I think," said Carew quietly.

"Perhaps not, monsieur. I am brave enough in some ways—braver, perhaps, than you would be; but I have not that animal contempt for death that my comrade, El Toro, for instance, possesses. Delicate fibres suffer the most."

"Then you are hardly a fit person to be a ringleader of mutineers. Murderers should have no nerves."

Baptiste Liais was a very calm person when he was not in fear, and he had now entirely recovered his self-possession. He shrugged his shoulders, and replied carelessly, "There are assassins and assassins, monsieur. There is courage and courage. There is the blind bravery of the soldier, who, shrinking not from bloodshed, risks his life in battle; and there is the cool nerve of the educated man, who, in cold blood, removes with poison those who stand in his way. I suppose you allow that this last is also a species of courage?"

"Is that your sort of courage?"

The Frenchman shook his head in a deprecatory way, and exclaimed, in tones of playful remonstrance, as if he were only rebutting a charge of one of those offences which are tolerated, and even fashionable, "But, monsieur, monsieur! you speak of me as if I had been proved to be an assassin. You forget that I was acquitted."

"You say that you are innocent?"

"Certainly. I am sure that I am a very inoffensive fellow." The man spoke with the quiet ease of one gentleman to another. It was plain that he had been used to decent society at some period of his life.

"Were you never on board the Vrouw Elisa?"

"I had never heard of the vessel till they arrested me here."

"And your companions, the two Spaniards?"

"As innocent as I am myself—no more, no less. But I see that you have some of that excellent English tobacco on the table. Permit me to make myself a cigarette."

"You are a cool fellow, Baptiste Liais. I can see that you are a man of education. You were not always a common sailor?"

"Your perception flatters me. You have divined the truth," said the Frenchman, bowing. "I am a gentleman by birth and education. My family is one of the most ancient and respected of the ProvenÇal aristocracy. I need not tell you that the name I now go by is an assumed one. And I—well I, to be candid, am the scapegrace of the family."

He rolled himself up a cigarette, lit it, and, looking up, his eyes met those of Carew in the frankest way possible. And yet the solicitor had no doubt in his own mind that the man had committed the crimes imputed to him; and the Frenchman, on his part, did not imagine for a moment that Carew believed in his innocence.

"I suppose you will now look out for another ship?" the solicitor said.

"How can I do so in Rotterdam? My face is known here. I am execrated—hunted down. No captain would ship me, no crew serve with me."

"Won't your consul assist you?"

"I don't think so," replied the Frenchman drily.

Neither spoke for some time; then Carew said, "I realise your position, and am sorry for you. Now supposing I were to ship you on board my yacht, I imagine that it would be a matter of indifference to you to what part of the world we sailed?"

The Frenchman looked curiously and keenly at Carew out of the corners of his eyes. "I don't care a rap where I go to so long as I get out of this detestable Rotterdam," he replied.

"And your friends—would they come too?"

"Gladly. I will answer for them."

"What sort of men are they?"

"The little one, a Galician from Ferrol, is not at all a bad fellow, and he is an excellent sailor; but the big Basque is a savage brute—one of such is enough on a vessel. However, he can't do much harm by himself, unless he makes the rest of your crew discontented. Are they Englishmen?"

"I am alone. I have discharged my crew; and there would only be you three and myself on board."

"That would be a sufficient number to navigate this little ship. Do you really mean that you wish us to come with you?"

"I do," replied Carew, after a slight hesitation; and the Frenchman eyed him with a not unnatural astonishment.

The solicitor had rapidly surveyed the situation in all its bearings, and he had decided that it was his wisest and safest plan to engage these ruffians as his crew. Morally weak, acutely fearful of disgrace, and cowardly of conscience as he was, Carew had plenty of physical courage. He was not the least daunted by the idea of venturing across the wide ocean on a small yacht accompanied by these murderers.

Here was a crew ready to sail with him at a moment's notice and ask no questions. He felt that he ran but very little risk, after all; for these ruffians would gain nothing by murdering him. Piracy, in the old sense of the term, is almost impossible in these days. These men by themselves could do nothing with the yacht; they could not take her into any civilised port and dispose of her; neither of them could impersonate an English barrister. The seizure of the Vrouw Elisa was a very different matter; for the mutineers then knew that there was a revolutionary party ready to purchase the vessel they had stolen.

Again, he would make them acquainted with the fact that he was taking no money with him on the yacht; and he would promise to pay them, on their arrival at Buenos Ayres, a considerably larger sum than sailors ever receive for such a voyage. Under these circumstances, it could not possibly be to their interest to do away with him. On the contrary, it would be to their manifest advantage to serve him faithfully. Unless the men were absolute idiots, they would see all this; and he knew that the Frenchman, at least, was far too intelligent a man to commit a senseless crime that could do him no good.

So argued the solicitor; and there was yet another more subtle motive that urged him to engage these three men in preference to honest sailors—a motive of which he himself was only dimly conscious. When a man has a sentimental objection to being a villain, and yet is one, and has no intention of reforming, he likes his surroundings not to be of a sort to reproach him and remind him of his crimes. It is painful to him to associate with good men. He prefers to be in the company of the bad; in their presence he does not feel the shame of his wickedness. So this man, with his strangely complex mind and conflicting instincts, was glad to take unto himself men worse even than himself as his companions across the ocean.

"And to what port did you say you were sailing?" asked the Frenchman.

"I will not tell you that until we are out at sea."

"Oh, very well," said the man, again casting a keen glance at Carew's face, and smiling, as one who should say, "Have you too your secret—have you too committed a crime? If so, there should at once be an agreeable bond of sympathy between us."

"How soon do you sail, sir?" he asked.

"If you are all on board to-night we will sail at daybreak. I am ready for sea. You need not trouble about getting an outfit, for I have plenty of clothes in the yacht for the lot of you." Carew was thinking of the effects of Allen and his man Jim.

"Oh, that is excellent!" cried the Frenchman. "And, excuse me, sir; what pay will you give us?—not that I wish to chaffer with one who has come to my rescue in so generous a manner."

"And I do not wish to stint you," replied Carew. "You, as mate, shall have seven pounds a month; your comrades five pounds a month each."

"That will do very well; but I should like you not to let the others know that I am receiving a higher pay than they. They might be jealous—not to say dangerous," said the cunning fellow. "Ha! what is that?" The Frenchman started, gripped Carew by the arm, and his cheeks again became white with fear.

There was a sound of footsteps on the deck, and the next moment the tub-shaped Willem entered the cabin. When he saw who was sitting opposite to his master he stood stock still, his jaw dropped, and an expression of extreme astonishment, which amounted to horror, settled on his stupid, honest face.

"What is the matter with you, Willem?" asked Carew, knowing well what was about to happen. "This is the mate I have engaged for the yacht."

"Dat—dat man!" cried the Dutchman, finding his voice with difficulty. "You know who dat man is?"

"I do. He has just left the court-house. He was unjustly accused of murder, and has been found innocent."

"Vat—you take dat man for mate! Oh, den I go—I go at vonce! I not stay on board vid dat man."

The usually stolid Dutchman trembled with excitement, and his broad face was scarlet with indignation. After a few minutes, finding that Carew was obdurate and would insist on engaging the most loathed man in all Rotterdam as mate, Willem rolled up his scanty luggage into a bundle, demanded and received the few guilders that were owing to him, and hurried on shore, grumbling uncouth Dutch oaths to himself as he went.

Then the Frenchman, who had been observing the scene with a cynical smile, laughed bitterly.

"Had I been the fiend himself that fat idiot could not have been much more terrified at the sight of me. Ah, how they love me—these worthy people of Rotterdam!"

For a moment there was a troubled look upon Carew's face. With his usual inconsistency he half regretted, when it was too late, that honest Willem had left him. It seemed to him that he had now broken the last tie between himself and the world of law-abiding men. He felt a vague sense of something lost to him for ever; as if his guardian angel, despairing of him, had forsaken him. But he quickly shook off the feeling as a foolish fancy, and turned his attention to the business he had on hand.

"Now, Baptiste," he said, "we must find your two comrades. Do you know where they are?"

"I think I can find them. Anticipating a separation, we arranged a rendezvous. But I dare not walk through the streets to look for them; I should be recognised and murdered."

"Nonsense! we will soon disguise you. Shave off your moustache and put on a suit of clothes that I will lend you, and your own mother would not know you."

The Frenchman obeyed these instructions, and was so satisfied with the change effected in his appearance by a hairless lip and a suit of poor Allen's clothes that he no longer hesitated to go forth in search of his two shipmates.

Left alone, Carew pondered, with satisfaction, on his day's doings. All was going on well so far. "Lucky it is for me," he thought, "that there is an Admiralty warrant on the yacht. Provided with that useful document, I sail under the blue ensign of Her Majesty's fleet, and can do pretty well what I like. No authorities in any port will trouble me in the least. I can avoid the formality of taking my crew before the consul to sign articles, and I will dispense with a bill of health from this port. I may get quarantine for a few days in consequence of this last omission; but what is that to the peril of informing our consul here of my destination? And, by the bye, I am engaged to dine with Mynheer Hoogendyk to-morrow. I am afraid I shall keep him waiting, and over the spoiling dinner his cook will lose her temper; for by that time I ought to be well out in the North Sea."

After about an hour's absence the Frenchman returned, accompanied by the two Spaniards. They entered the cabin, the little Galician all smiles, the big Basque awkward, vainly attempting not to scowl; but, do all he could, he still looked the brutal ruffian he was.

"I have been very lucky," said Liais. "I soon found our lost lambs."

"Have you explained my proposal to them?" Carew asked.

"I have, and they are quite content with the pay you offer. They don't care a straw where you take them to, so long as it is not to a Spanish port. It seems that the lads are somewhat weary of their native land, and they tell me that they have some officious acquaintances among the Spanish police whom they would prefer not to meet."

"I understand. I shall not call at any Spanish port; so they may set their minds at ease. And now I will inscribe your names in this book, if you please." He took Allen's diary out of the drawer. "First of all, there is Baptiste Liais, mate."

"No; put me down plain Baptiste. My name is so well known now that I should like to leave half of it out."

"Very well," said Carew, as he wrote. "And who is this big fellow?"

"His name is Juan Silvas. But he, too, would rather be called by any other name, after the unpleasant publicity of the trial. His nickname among us is El Toro—the bull—because of his goggle eyes, his bull-like features and strength, and his blind, bovine rage. Put him down as Juan Toro."

"Good; it is done. And what is the other man's name?"

"JosÉ Rodez, known among his intimates as El Chico, or the little one."

"Then, following your system, I will inscribe him as JosÉ Chico. Will that do?"

"One name is as good as another," replied the Frenchman; "but oh, mon capitaine, this has been a somewhat trying day for us, and we are all very hungry."

"There is plenty of food on board. I will show you where to find it. Give the lads some supper; then turn in, all of you. The tide is early, and we sail at daybreak."

The next morning, just as the first slight murmuring sound arose from the big city, telling that the giant was awaking to its restless life, the canal lock was opened, and the yacht shot out into the tideway.

Carew, who had taken mental notes of the navigation when sailing up the Maas, refused the assistance of a pilot, and took his vessel safely down the rapid river, across the shoals that encumber the estuary, and out into the open sea. The weather was splendid, and the wind favoured him, as it blew freshly from the south-east.

Then Carew's pulse quickened; a wild exultation thrilled him, as the yacht, leaning well over to the steady wind, all her canvas set, rushed with pleasant sound through the smooth water. At that moment he felt happy, even proud of himself. He was safe at last, free from all anxiety. How Fortune had befriended him! That fatal superstition in luck that comes to the criminal and the gambler possessed him. Whom the gods wish to destroy they first make mad.

"Baptiste," he said, "I have heard it is a custom of Spain for the captain of a vessel, as soon as she is well outside the harbour, to call all hands aft and serve round grog, so that they can drink to the prosperity of the voyage. Fetch up some rum, and give each a glass."

The Frenchman obeyed the order. Carew was steering at the time, and the men stood round him, glasses in hand, awaiting the toast. Then the captain raised his glass in his disengaged hand, and called out in French—

"Comrades, here's to a prosperous voyage—to Buenos Ayres!"

When the men heard their destination they seemed dumb with surprise for a moment; then they raised a joyful shout. The prospect was evidently an agreeable one to them.

"To Buenos Ayres," said the Frenchman, bowing to Carew with a knowing smile, "the land where there is no extradition."