"She has not always been the Gretchen B., of Bingen," he replied.
"I know that, my dear sir," I observed, "but her previous name was the Anneke van der Q."
"Anneke van der bosh!" he ejaculated, with a laugh. "That is what they told you, and you swallowed the bait. They knew precious well your people wouldn't buy her if they had ever guessed she'd once been the terror of the seas as the Dutch Avenger of everywhere, the ubiquitous ranger of the deep, Captain Wouter von Rotterdaam, better known as the Throat-Cutter of the Caribbees."
"Is that the truth?" I replied.
"As a pirate, I scorn lies," he answered. "We don't need 'em in our business. Get your carpenter to plane off the name on her stern and see!" and even as he spoke he disappeared, fading away through the closed door.
I was nearly prostrated by the revelation, but, hoping for disproof, I rushed up on deck, summoned the carpenter, and ordered the name Gretchen B. planed off the stern. Alas! there beneath the innocent letters lay the horrid proof of the truth of the spectre's story, the words Dutch Avenger, flanked on either side by skull and cross-bones.
Again I sought my room, to recover, and to my added distress Von Rotterdaam had returned, an ugly look on his face.
"You've changed your course!" he said, savagely.
"I know it," said I. "My cargo is spoiled for the original market. I am taking it where it is salable."
He was very wroth.