Five minutes later Fielding, with his hands securely fastened behind his back, was led into the Spaniard's presence. For a few moments neither man spoke, but stood looking at each other as if to detect a weak spot in their respective armour.
"Señor officer," began Cervillo, languidly resting himself and lighting a cigar, "the time is for explanation. I hold you prisoner —you and the other I took from the captured ships. If men-of-war come, then I place you on deck so they no can fire—see? Good! Now I tell you fair, we go north to sea of ice. P'r'aps we fall in with English or American warship. If not, den no necessity for you to stop—unless you 'gree to pay ransom."
"Precious little ransom you'll get out of me, you rogue!" interrupted the sub.
"Precious little?" repeated Cervillo, arching his eyebrows. "We see soon. No can keep without pay; no pay, den we put you and your comrades ashore. Cold, señor; no food—all ice and snow—die miserably. That I swear."
"Carry on, then," remarked Fielding, coolly.
"What you mean—carry on?" demanded Cervillo.
"Do your worst, you white-livered sweep. There's a hangman's rope waiting for you, sure enough. Already you're a doomed man.
"Quien sabe?" said the Spaniard. "But be assured, señor, you will not be there to see the spectacle. I say no more. Tink over my words, and if you no write promise to pay thirty hundred English pounds—an' your companions, they, too, will pay—then I will do what they call maroon—eh?"
The interview was at an end. The guard closed around the young sub-lieutenant, and walking as firmly as he could—for Fielding was somewhat hampered by the muzzle of a revolver being jammed into his boot—he passed disdainfully out of Cervillo's cabin.
The Spaniard meant to keep his word this time. Although he realised that an order on a British banker might in all probability be difficult to convert into ready money, there was a chance that his agents might be able to realise on the draft. Should the order be forthcoming, Cervillo would be willing to spare the lives of his hostages, although, once in the almost deserted Arctic, they would be of no use as deterrents to gun-fire. On the other hand Cervillo knew that he had already been guilty, not merely of piracy, but of murder on the high seas, and one or two more crimes would make very little difference. He would either bend or break the Englishman's stubborn character.