The man hesitated.
“We’re no pirates,” remarked Captain Holstrom.
The man gave orders to the gunmen to remain below.
“If you are not pirates,” he said, when we were assembled in the wheel-house, “you can show it by turning over to us the gold you’ve dug out of the wreck over yonder.”
The spokesman was a rather excitable fellow. He began to tap his finger on the captain’s breast. He showed documents with seals and all the other law-shark trimmings.
“You have no right to come here and operate. Have you got attorney’s powers? Have you got anything in the way of permits? No, you haven’t. That gold belongs to other people. Give it up and save trouble.”
Captain Holstrom threw a sort of helpless look at me, stifling some emotion. I realized that he was at the end of his dignity and that in about ten seconds he would begin to use his talents in the line of profanity.
“Excuse me if I say a word here,” I broke in. “I am a partner in this enterprise.”
“You’re using a polite word for this kind of a job,” sneered the man.
“You may represent the underwriters,” I said, “but to all intents and purposes the underwriters had abandoned the treasure.”