“Hush, Herc!” reproved Ned. “Go on, sir.”
“It has come from the outside, from the good friends of the rebellion. Now, the only way to prevent the rebels winning the day is to head off their arms. Therefore, the American government sends a destroyer down there to guard her interests—but secretly, mind you.”
“Why don’t they send the fleet down there and blow the rebels into the sea?” asked Herc, who had not noted a fact which Ned’s keen observation had instantly taken in, and that was that the dark-skinned man was decidedly pro-rebel in his feelings. Carefully as he had tried to mask it in his talk, this fact stuck out to Ned as plainly as the nose on his face.
“That would not be diplomacy,” rejoined the stranger airily.
“No, but fine judgment,” added Herc sagely.
“Now, the point is this,” resumed the stranger, not noticing, or not deigning to notice, Herc’s remark, “we want to know what is going on on board the Beale every moment that she lies off the coast of Costaveza.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” thought Ned to himself. But aloud he said innocently:
“Did you say we, sir?”
“Yes. Why should I disguise it?” said the stranger, his eyes lighting up enthusiastically. “I am a patriot. The heart of Jules Charbonde bleeds for his unhappy country, and so——”
“And so, being a patriot yourself,” snapped out Ned, with blazing eyes, “you have come to ask us to betray our country.”