"I think," said he, with an almost perfect English accent--"I think one's knowledge of the Coast would be very limited, if one had never heard of Captain Crouch."
Crouch placed his hand upon his heart and made a mimic bow.
"May I return the compliment?" said he. "I've heard men speak of de Costa from Sierra Leone to Walfish Bay, and never once have I heard anything said that was good."
At that the half-caste caught his under-lip in his teeth, and shot Crouch a glance in which was fear, mistrust and anger. The sea-captain did not appear to notice it, for he went on in the easiest manner in the world.
"And who's your friend?" he asked, indicating the tall man with the black beard, who was now approaching with Edward Harden and Max.
"My friend," said he, "is a countryman of mine, a Portuguese, who has assumed the name of Cæsar." The half-caste had evidently not forgotten the insult which Crouch had hurled in his teeth; for now his demeanour changed, and he laughed. "If Captain Crouch finds it necessary to meddle in our affairs," said he, "I think he will find his equal in Mister Cæsar."
Crouch paid no more attention to him than he would have done to a mosquito; and before the man had finished speaking, he had turned his back upon him, and held out a hand to the Portuguese.
"I trust," said he, "you've expressed your gratitude to Ted Harden, who, instead of taking your life, preferred to extinguish your cigarette."
"I have already done so," said Cæsar, with a smile. "I hope to explain matters later. The mistake was natural enough."
Crouch, with his one eye, looked this man through and through. He had been able to sum up the half-caste at a glance. Cæsar was a personality that could not be fathomed in an instant.