“Mr Parkley!” exclaimed the latter, “I cannot see all this costly enterprise ruined because of my private trouble with this villain.”
“Villain!” cried Lauré, confronting Dutch, whose face flushed and whose hands were half raised to seize his enemy.
“Be silent,” he said, in a low, hoarse voice, “I’ve that within me that I can hardly control. If you rouse it again, by the God who made me, I’ll strangle you and hurl you over the side.”
The Cuban involuntarily shrank from the menacing face before him, and Dutch by a strong effort turned to Mr Parkley.
“Make terms with him, sir. I will not stand in your way.”
“Yes, I’ll make terms with him,” exclaimed Mr Parkley, angrily. “Now, sir, I ask you again will you fulfil your contract?”
The Cuban half-closed his eyes, puffed forth a ring of smoke, and said quietly,—
“In my country, when one man strikes another the insult is washed out in blood. Your bold partner there has struck me, a weaker man than himself, and I cannot avenge the insult, for you cold islanders here boast of your courage, but you will not equalise the weak and strong by placing the sword, the knife, or the pistol in their hands. You say no; that is the law. You call in your police. Fools! cowards! do you think that will satisfy me?”
“Did Mr Pugh strike you, then?” said Mr Parkley.
“Yes, three cruel blows,” hissed the Cuban, with his face distorted with rage.