“Now, I wonder, just as a matter of curiosity, what made you ask that there question, shipmate,” said Mr Dawkins, with an elaborate show of indifference, evidently desiring to gain time. Mr Dawkins’s interval of reflection had perhaps suggested to him that Morgan’s question might be merely an innocent enquiry suggested by some old, vague story. There were plenty of wild yarns afloat concerning buried treasure and the like.
“Because,” Morgan replied, with a reckless audacity that made us jump, “that silver belongs to me.”
“Ho, it does, does it,” said Dawkins, after a little uneasy silence. “And how might that be, shipmate, make so humbly bold?” he added, with the ominous politeness we knew.
“Ah, well, you know the saying, Mr Dawkins, ‘the longest liver takes all.’”
“Seems to me, shipmate,” said Dawkins, with laboured sweetness, “you’re a-talking in riddles. Now, I was never no hand at riddles.”
Without removing his eyes from Morgan, he was stealthily fingering one of the pistols he wore in his cross-belt of silk, after the manner of the pirates. The persuasion that he had been trepanned was working itself clear in his mind.
“No riddle at all, Mr Dawkins,” said Morgan, pleasantly. “Your old commander, Sir Henry Morgan, was my grandfather——”
Dawkins, in his amazement, dropped his hands upon the table and leaned forward with fallen jaw.
“——And he left his wealth to me. You’ll find it hard to bam your old commander, Mr Dawkins, dead or alive!”
We were in the room on the instant, covering Mr Dawkins with our pistols, like a scene in a playhouse. He gave up his arms quite peaceably, in a dazed, helpless way; and sat all shrunken together and staring upon us. Then he turned upon Morgan Leroux, and delivered himself of some pungent observations. Pomfrett stopped him sharply.