"Be at ease upon that point, chevalier. We could take two Spaniards of the Santissima Trinidad's metal. I fear I must bid you good evening, though. Hark!"
The bell of the Spanish frigate rang out eight times.
"Midnight!" exclaimed O'Donnell. "Can you be gone by dawn?"
"My dear sir," returned my uncle lightly, "this brig will never be seen again—anywhere—by anybody."
O'Donnell shivered.
"Good night," he said abruptly, and his head vanished behind the bulwarks.
I heard the rattle of oars, a low order in Spanish, the steady splash and spatter of rowers as the boat pulled away. My great-uncle watched it for a moment, then turned toward where I stood.
"Well, Nephew Robert, what did you make of us?" he inquired.
I contrived to keep my voice level, for I would not give him the satisfaction of supposing he had startled me.
"That you are engaged in deeper villainy even than my father feared."