Having dined off some very greasy dishes served up with cassava or lentils, and seasoned with hot peppers in the Brazilian fashion, Carew and the mate lit their pipes, and the one-eyed negro brought them cups of black coffee and glasses of white native rum. The table at which they sat was at some distance from any other, so all risk of their conversation being overheard was obviated.

"All these men are thieves, you say?" said Carew, looking round at the strange assembly, on whose faces the Venetian lanterns cast a ruddy glow.

"Yes, thieves and murderers, all of them," replied the mate, "but well-behaved, quiet folk, as you see. One is safer here than in some of the flash cafÉs in the main streets of Rio."

"They carry their characters on their faces. I only see one in the whole crowd whom I would not instinctively distrust. Who is that tall, handsome old man with the long white hair and beard?"

"That is our worthy host," said Baptiste. "He looks like a mild, mediÆval saint, but there is much blood on his hands. I must introduce him to you, for he is a celebrated character in his way."

Baptiste caught the old man's eye, and beckoned to him to approach the table.

"Good-evening to you, Father Luigi. I think you understand French?"

The old man nodded an assent.

"I don't suppose you remember me? I have not been here for a very long time."

"I never forget a face that I have seen in my cafÉ," replied the host in French, with a strong Italian accent.

"This, Luigi, is my present captain, an English milord, travelling in his yacht; and this, captain, is the once well-known Roman brigand, Luigi Querini. Oh, an awful cut-throat in his time, I assure you."

Querini shook his head sadly. "But not so now, signor. I am getting old. Heigh-ho, but those were grand days we had in the Abruzzi Mountains before Victor Emmanuel's gendarmerie spoilt Italy."

"Sit down and have a glass with us, Luigi," said the mate. "Salud y pesetas—health and dollars to you; that's an old River Plate toast. Luigi knows Buenos Ayres well, captain. He'll tell us all about it."

"Yes, I know it too well," said the old man. "I was a soldier of the Argentine Republic, and lived on mare's flesh on the Indian frontier for four years."

"What made you do that?" asked Carew.

"I see you are a stranger to South America, sir. Understand, I was not a volunteer. I had a misfortune, and therefore was pressed into the army for punishment."

"To have a misfortune is a Pampas euphemism for having murdered a man," explained the mate.

"There is, as you know, no capital punishment in the River Plate," continued the Italian; "if a man kills another the penalty is so many years' service in the army."

"What a respectable army it must be," remarked Carew.

"It is so," said Baptiste. "They are wise people, those Argentines. If a man is addicted to homicide for his private ends, they turn him into a wholesale homicide for the public good. That may be called the homoeopathic treatment of murder; like curing like."

Carew laughed boisterously at the mate's witticism, and the silent men at the tables round, hating the sound of merriment, turned their faces towards him and scowled savagely.

A species of intoxication had come to Carew. The strange sights and strong emotions of the day, the grotesque contrast presented by this lovely bower of pure blossoms and the foul and evil men who sat beneath it, confused his brain. His surroundings seemed so fantastically inconsistent—so unreal—that he felt as if he were some irresponsible being in a land of dreams, that it mattered not what he did. He was filled with a reckless joviality.

The mate had been watching him with his keen eyes. He knew what this exaltation of spirits indicated, and divined that the moment was opportune for the mooting of his diabolical scheme. In the present condition of his mental faculties, the captain's obstructive conscience would be partly paralysed, and he would be able to listen to the mate's proposals without overmuch shrinking horror. So the shrewd Frenchman, losing no more time, hinted to the host that his presence at the table was no longer needed, and Querini took himself off to hobnob with another acquaintance.

Baptiste then stretched out his legs and said—

"This is very comfortable after having been cramped up so long on board that little boat of yours; but I hope, sir, to see you captain of a much larger vessel in a week or so at the latest."

"So we are coming to your wonderful scheme. Let me hear all about it."

"You remember, sir, that as we sailed into the bay this morning I pointed out a small barque to El Toro, and remarked how much she resembled the old Vrouw Elisa."

"I remember your words perfectly. You betrayed yourself."

"Intentionally, captain. We understand each other now; there are no secrets between us. Away with hypocrisy! Of course El Toro, El Chico, and myself formed part of the crew of the Vrouw Elisa. But it is unnecessary to recount to you our adventures on board that vessel."

"They do not interest me."

"I don't think you'd care to hear them," said Baptiste, showing his white teeth with a grim smile. "Well, to proceed. When you were at the consul's this morning, I entered a little drinking shop on the Mole, and there I overheard some sailors speaking about their vessel, which I soon made out to be the barque lying near us under Villegagnon, the one like the Vrouw Elisa. Said one man to the other in French—

"'I suppose she's got the most valuable cargo on board of any vessel in Rio.'

"I pricked up my ears on hearing this.

"'She'd be a fine prize for a pirate,' replied the other man.

"'If there were pirates nowadays,' said the first.

"Feeling interested, I made inquiries about this vessel—Waiter, stand off another few yards. I am talking over some private business with this gentleman."

The negro, not unused to such commands, promptly removed himself.

"I discovered that the barque comes from a little harbour down the coast, near Santa Catharina. It seems that some prospectors have discovered gold in the neighbouring mountains. The quartz is exceptionally rich; the cost of importing the necessary machinery would be great. They are consequently shipping a large quantity of this quarts to Europe to be crushed. That barque, sailing under the French flag, is bound for Swansea with a cargo of this: no ordinary auriferous quartz, let me tell you, but containing a hitherto unexampled percentage of gold. She has put in here for some slight repairs, and will sail in two days. The barque is a new vessel, and is worth a lot of money; but the value of the cargo is enormous. Now, my little plan is that we four, the crew of the Petrel, seize this vessel and make our fortunes."

Carew laughed scornfully. "Idiot!" he said; "is this your precious scheme? I took you for too clever a man to talk such nonsense. Even if we did succeed in seizing this vessel, what could we do with her? In what port could we dispose of her cargo? Piracy is impossible in these days. Don't you know that?"

"Who talked of piracy? Surely, captain, you know me by this time. Am I not a coward? Am I one to commit a risky crime? I would break no law unless I felt that I was absolutely secure from detection; and when I do feel that, upon my soul, I don't know what villainy I would shrink from; for, as for conscience—bah! I have none. Now please follow the outlines of my scheme. I will leave it to your ingenuity to fill up the details."

Carew, in his present mood, felt a reluctant admiration for the cool and cynical ruffian before him.

"Piracy, in the ordinary sense of the term, is of course out of date," continued the mate, as he sipped his fiery rum; "but the intelligent man adapts his method to the age he lives in. I will now tell you a little story. An English yacht, manned by four worthy fellows, sails out of Rio one fine day. In the night, when she is some leagues from the land, a dreadful accident of some kind happens—say she runs into a large fragment of wreckage, and staves herself in. Anyhow, she founders. Happily, her crew have time to lower the boat, and getting into it they pull away, weeping to behold the vessel, that has been their home for so long, go down. But they feel happier and dry their eyes when their brave captain tells them that the yacht is well insured. Providence assists them, for at daybreak they sight a French barque. They signal to her, are seen, are soon taken on board, and the barque resumes her voyage to Europe. After some days our four shipwrecked mariners, who have been watching their opportunity, and who are well armed, surprise the crew, take possession of the vessel, sail her into the nearest port, and claim salvage for the derelict which they have had the luck to pick up; and their lives for the future are happy, wealthy, and respectable. Do you follow my story, captain? Hi! waiter, bring us some more rum and some Bahia cigars."

Carew sat quite motionless for some time, looking downwards, so that Baptiste could not see the expression of his face. The black brought the rum to the table and went away again. Then Carew raised his head. "I follow your story," he said, in a low, husky voice; "but you did not mention what became of the crew of the barque."

"Ah, yes! What did become of them?" exclaimed the mate in an airy way. "I forget. They were lost somehow, I imagine—were disposed of in some convenient fashion—who knows? But that is a detail."

Carew's face had turned fearfully white. "Thou devil!" he cried passionately, between his set teeth. "Not that—not that! Speak no more of this. It is impossible."

"Understand me, captain," said the mate, abandoning his bantering tone for one of serious determination. "You are not going to have everything your own way. I must have money, and plenty of it. El Chico and El Toro must have money. Join us in carrying out this scheme, and we will share the spoil between the four of us. If you don't agree to this, I will expose you at once, Mr. Carew, and you will know what a nasty hole a Brazilian prison is. I am sorry to use this language, but business is business, captain."

Carew looked down again, and Baptiste, furtively watching him, saw that his mouth was twitching and the perspiration breaking out on his forehead.

The wretched man endeavoured to think his way out of the terrible dilemma before him. He had to choose between the commission of a crime more atrocious than any he had ever conceived, and a disgrace and punishment infinitely worse than death. He tried to realise his position, but his brain seemed numbed. The two alternatives kept crossing and recrossing his mind in rapid succession. He was conscious of them, but he could not reason upon them. He was incapable of consecutive thought for the time.

Suddenly a discordant brass band in a low dancing saloon hard by burst out into a triumphant march, as a prelude to the night's riot of drunken sailors. It was a fragment of some French opera-bouffe, suggestive of feverish joy heedless of the morrow, of mad and reckless orgie. The sound was in accord with the man's distracted state. It at once awoke his mind from its lethargy. A wild and fierce impulse rushed upon him. Blindly he abandoned himself to what he considered to be his destiny, and a tempter seemed to whisper to him, "Trust to your luck. See how luck has been with you so far. Fortune will certainly find some way of relieving you of the crew of the barque, so that it will not be necessary for you to have their blood on your head. Arthur Allen stood in your path. He was removed from it; yet you were not his murderer. So will it be now. Trust to chance."

Then Carew looked up. His features were calm and rigid, but had a ghastly expression. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but appeared to be unable to articulate. He poured himself out a quantity of the white rum into a glass and swallowed it. "And the other two men?" he whispered hoarsely.

Baptiste understood his meaning. "El Chico and El Toro can be relied upon for this business. I know them," he said.

The eyes of the two men met. There was a long pause. Then Carew muttered the two words—

"I consent!"