"Ah, my dear boatswain, Henry, is a wise counselor," remarked Ichi, proving the acuteness of his hearing. "You are to be congratulated, Mr. Blake. One does not usually recover with such admirable quickness from the effects of the cervical plexus hold my man, Moto, practised upon you. And you, my good boatswain—it is with great pleasure that I perceive the workings of Fate have chastened the—er, boisterousness I remember so well from the days of my servitude."
The words were mocking. The Jap was clearly revealed where he stood, with the patch of daylight behind him, and the outheld lantern before him. Martin could not read a thought in that bland, smiling face. But the words mocked.
"Ye monkey-faced, yellow toad!" burst forth the boatswain. "If I 'ad the use o' my 'ands, ye'd not stand there grinnin'!"
"Ah, it grieves to discover I am in error," was Ichi's smiling response to the outburst. "The lessons Fate teaches are learned slowly by rebellious natures. My good boatswain, I would recommend your heated mind to solitude and meditation. If you think with much hardness upon the uncertainties of life, you may achieve that humility of spirit and manner which is so blessed in the eyes of our ancestors."
Ichi stepped forward a pace and lifted higher his lantern, the better to enjoy the effect of his words upon the shackled giant.
"My dear boatswain, do you recall the occasion when my honored self so unfortunately spilled upon your decks of whiteness the grease from the cooking; and how with great furiousness you applied to my respected person the knotted end of a rope? Ah, so then, it would perhaps add interest to your meditation to ponder the possibleness of physical persuasion to correct your faults—in the guise of the fingers of my good Moto! You have beheld the handling of the worthy Mr. Blake—yes?"
A vindictive note had crept into their visitor's soft, impersonal voice as he gibed the boatswain. Martin, staring upward at the lantern-lighted face, half expected to see the smirk flee the lips that threatened torture, and the hateful passions that inspired Ichi's gloating to reveal themselves in his features. But no hint of emotion disturbed the surface of that bland, yellow mask the one-time sea cook wore for a face; only the eyes were leagued with the sinister voice. Martin fancied he saw a cruel and mirthful gleam in Ichi's beady eyes, such a gleam as might creep into the eyes of a cat while playing with a captured mouse.
But the boatswain seemed not a whit appalled by Ichi's words. His response was prompt, and liberally tinged with sulfur and brimstone.
"Aye, I remember rope's-ending you, ye rat-eyed son o' a Hakodate gutter-snipe! If I 'ad my 'ands free now, I'd do worse—I'd pull your rotten 'ead from your shoulders! Aye, swiggle me, 'tis like your breed to mock a man what's tied, ye blasted coolie!"
At the words, expression suddenly enlivened the Jap's face and to Martin's astonishment it was not an expression of hate but of wounded conceit.