“Well, there were the six masked men on our own deck, with six ugly-looking rifles aimed at us. And there was the captain of the pirate vessel, standing at ease on his own deck, dressed like a revival of Hamlet who had been dipped in crimson dye, for he was as red as a poppy; and there, in the amidships turret, was the prettiest-looking brass-mouthed, rapid-fire gun you ever saw, frowning upon us.”
“Gee! That is more than he treated me to!” said Kane.
“Well, it was there, all right. There was another pirate standing at the breech, too, ready to set the thing going if he was ordered to do so.
“The pirate chief was pointing at it when he sang out to us, and what he said was this:
“‘My men have orders to fire if you make the slightest show of resistance; and, you see, that with this machine-gun, I could mow you down without mercy. Take my advice and keep quiet, and I promise you that no one shall be injured.’
“‘Who the devil are you?’ I demanded.
“He made no reply to that, but swung himself aboard the yacht and walked directly up to me.
“‘You are Mr. Philip Burton, are you not?’ he asked; and I——”
“Wait a minute, Burton,” interrupted Kane. “Did you notice anything familiar about his voice—eh?”