"Sorry to trouble you, captain," he said, "but we have reason to believe that you have a refugee aboard your ship."
"A refugee?" repeated Broadbeam, with a start. "Who is he?"
"Man named Tompkins."
"Why, yes," admitted the captain, "we have a new man here by that name."
"Will you kindly summon him? We have business with him. That is the man, doctor?" inquired the officer, as the sickly-looking fellow employed by the Swallow that morning slipped out from among the crew at a call from Captain Broadbeam.
"Ah, yes," nodded the governor's physician, eying Tompkins critically. "My man, you are making us a whole heap of trouble, it seems."
Tompkins looked confused and ill at ease, gazing surlily at the deck.
"What's the matter with him?" demanded the captain.
"Suspect," announced the officer quickly. "Came in on a fruit boat a few days ago. Boat infected, and this man and the others put in quarantine. He got away. Look him over, doctor."
Monterey stepped up to Tompkins. He examined his pulse and his tongue and tapped him on the chest. Then he said tersely: