"We return to the yacht at once," said Steve, stiffly.
"My mansion is roomy and comforting," continued the other, as if he had not heard, "and here are no owls to annoy one. Some day I will take you to visit the third island of my kingdom. It is called Chica—after my daughter, here." He glanced at the young girl, as he spoke, and she cast down her eyes, seeming frightened.
Mr. Cumberford arose.
"Sir," said he, "we thank you for your hospitality, which we regret we are unable to further accept. Let us come to the point of our errand. We need your assistance and are willing to pay for it—liberally, if need be. You have plenty of men here, I observe, and a large launch. Send a crew with us to our island——"
"My island, señor, if you please."
"Very well. Send a crew of men to help us, and come along yourself, if you like. But whatever you do, kindly do it at once, as we have no time to waste."
He spoke positively, in a way that required an answer; but Don Miguel merely took a cake from the tray, and as he munched it said casually in Spanish, as if addressing the air: "Prepare my launch; have the men in readiness; lock the little boat securely."
Without a glance at his master, the one-eyed man deliberately left the veranda and walked down the path. Steve pricked up his ears. He understood the carefully veiled command, and it nettled him.
"What little boat do you refer to, sir?" he pointedly asked.
Don Miguel gave a start, but tossed off the contents of his glass, and rose.