“It wasn’t my money,” he said, as if to extenuate his previous denial.
“Then you have got a draft, such as this fellow speaks of?” continued the corsair, pointing contemptuously with his foot at the mate, with a kick.
“Yes,” said the captain.
“Where is it?”
“In a note-book in the pocket of that coat of mine you’ve got on,” said Captain Harding, with a gesture at the borrowed monkey-jacket which the other still wore.
“Oh, thanks! Then it is quite handy,” said the corsair, clapping his hand in the breast-pocket of the appropriated garment, and producing a thick Russian leather wallet, which he proceeded to open with nervous hands.
“Respect my private papers,” said the captain, as the other fumbled amidst a mass of memoranda and other documents. “There is only one draft there, and nothing else valuable, I pledge you my word.”
“Honour?” asked the other.
“On my honour there is not,” replied Captain Harding with dignity. “I never said that when you asked me about money in the cabin; so, you may believe me.”
“I do believe you, captain,” said the pirate chief with a light laugh, which might have been caused by the sight of a banker’s draft which he unfolded at the moment, as much as by his words. “I give you the credit of not being able to tell a lie with any spirit, as you tried to do just now. Here are your papers; this will be enough for me.” And he then read out the draft, which ran as follows:—