Mr. Solomon scrutinised the signature as a bank clerk might scrutinise a doubtful cheque.
"Yes," he murmured at last, "it is not a forg—I mean," he corrected himself hastily, happening to catch the Captain's eye, "it seems quite genuine. Oh yes, quite. Still, I would like to know——"
"How I came by this authority—eh?" broke in the other with a contemptuous laugh. "And you'd like to know why I'm referred to there as John Brighouse and not as Captain Calamity. You're itching to know, aren't you, Solly?"
"Merely as a matter of pissness."
"Exactly. Well, as a matter of business, I'm not going to enlighten you. How I obtained the Letters of Marque is my concern; the reason why I am referred to therein as John Brighouse is not your concern. For the rest, to you and to every one else in these parts, my name remains what it always has been—Captain Calamity. Savvy?"
"A tree is known by its fruit—eh, Captain?" And Mr. Solomon laughed—that is to say, his throat emitted a strange, creaking noise which suggested that his vocal organs needed oiling, while his lips twitched convulsively.
"And your ship," he went on when this mirthful mood had passed, "vere is she?"
"That is a question which you can answer better than I."
Mr. Solomon's face was eloquently interrogative.
"I mean that, if you intend to join in this little venture with me, you must solve the problem."