Lingard spun round with aggressive mien to the light touch on his shoulder, but as soon as he took his eyes off Mr. Travers, his anger fell, seemed to sink without a sound at his feet like a rejected garment.
“Pardon me,” said d'Alcacer, composedly. The slight wave of his hand was hardly more than an indication, the beginning of a conciliating gesture. “Pardon me; but this is a matter requiring perfect confidence on both sides. Don Martin, here, who is a person of importance. . . .”
“I've spoken my mind plainly. I have said as much as I dare. On my word I have,” declared Lingard with an air of good temper.
“Ah!” said d'Alcacer, reflectively, “then your reserve is a matter of pledged faith—of—of honour?”
Lingard also appeared thoughtful for a moment.
“You may put it that way. And I owe nothing to a man who couldn't see my hand when I put it out to him as I came aboard.”
“You have so much the advantage of us here,” replied d'Alcacer, “that you may well be generous and forget that oversight; and then just a little more confidence. . . .”
“My dear d'Alcacer, you are absurd,” broke in Mr. Travers, in a calm voice but with white lips. “I did not come out all this way to shake hands promiscuously and receive confidences from the first adventurer that comes along.”
D'Alcacer stepped back with an almost imperceptible inclination of the head at Lingard, who stood for a moment with twitching face.
“I am an adventurer,” he burst out, “and if I hadn't been an adventurer, I would have had to starve or work at home for such people as you. If I weren't an adventurer, you would be most likely lying dead on this deck with your cut throat gaping at the sky.”