“Well spoken, my lord. Here's the health of our saintly and venerable guest,” said Cary: while the commandant whispered to Amyas, “Fat old tyrant! I hope you have found his money—for I am sure he has some on board, and I should be loath that you lost the advantage of it.”
“I shall have to say a few words to you about that money this morning, commandant: by the by, they had better be said now. My lord bishop, do you know that had we not taken this ship when we did, you had lost not merely money, as you have now, but life itself?”
“Money? I had none to lose! Life?—what do you mean?” asked the bishop, turning very pale.
“This, sir. That it ill befits one to lie, whose throat has been saved from the assassin's knife but four hours since. When we entered the stern-gallery, we found two persons, now on board this ship, in the very act, sir, and article, of cutting your sinful throat, that they might rob you of the casket which lay beneath your pillow. A moment more, and you were dead. We seized and bound them, and so saved your life. Is that plain, sir?”
The bishop looked steadfastly and stupidly into Amyas's face, heaved a deep sigh, and gradually sank back in his chair, dropping the glass from his hand.
“He is in a fit! Call in the surgeon! Run!” and up jumped kind-hearted Jack, and brought in the surgeon of the galleon.
“Is this possible, senor?” asked the commandant.
“It is true. Door, there! Evans! go and bring in that rascal whom we left bound in his cabin!”
Evans went, and the commandant continued—
“But the stern-gallery? How, in the name of all witches and miracles, came your valor thither?”