"You are a desperate, broken man," he cried. "You are playing for a stake against big odds. Quesada is your boss. Once you get to sea with a ship-load of guns and cut-throat recruits and you will not let the boy stand between you and your business. You are too old a dog to learn new tricks. You mean well, but you are hard as nails. And I cannot trust you to stand up against Quesada and the rest of them to save the lad."
Captain Brincker chewed his gray mustache in silence. At length he grumbled:
"What are you going to do about it?"
Devlin was perplexed, and he cogitated at some length before declaring:
"I have the bright idea. I will hold you as a hostage. When I think of that poor crippled lad out yonder, with Quesada cooking it up in his wicked heart how he can easiest make way with him, it's a wonder I'm not mad enough to blow the head off you, Captain Brincker. You may be thankful that I'm not a violent man."
Devlin glanced into the hallway. He dared not leave his prisoner, so he gruffly ordered him to march in front of him. Halting inside the front door, he sang out in a tremendous voice:
"Oh, you Alfaro! Get a jump on yourself."
The faithful Colombian heard the summons and dashed in as the door was unbolted.
"Are you killed?" he gasped.