“I am sorry to press you in such a matter, Don Diego, but one glass is all that I can give you. If by the time those sands have run out you can propose no acceptable alternative, I shall most reluctantly be driven to ask you to go over the side with your friends.”
Captain Blood bowed, went out, and locked the door. Elbows on his knees and face in his hands, Don Diego sat watching the rusty sands as they filtered from the upper to the lower bulb. And what time he watched, the lines in his lean brown face grew deeper. Punctually as the last grains ran out, the door reopened.
The Spaniard sighed, and sat upright to face the returning Captain Blood with the answer for which he came.
“I have thought of an alternative, sir captain; but it depends upon your charity. It is that you put us ashore on one of the islands of this pestilent archipelago, and leave us to shift for ourselves.”
Captain Blood pursed his lips. “It has its difficulties,” said he slowly.
“I feared it would be so.” Don Diego sighed again, and stood up. “Let us say no more.”
The light-blue eyes played over him like points of steel.
“You are not afraid to die, Don Diego?”
The Spaniard threw back his head, a frown between his eyes.
“The question is offensive, sir.”