"Strip."
Tompkins pulled off his shirt. As his naked back came into view several of the crew curiously regarding the scene uttered quick, startled exclamations.
Across the chest, shoulders, and arms of the suspect, the refugee, were half-a-hundred purple-black blotches.
"Spotted fever," said the governor's physician, stepping back as if his task was done and over with.
"Tut! tut! Too bad," observed Silverado. "Captain, I regret to say that this is a quarantine case."
"Eh? Oh, just so," responded Broadbeam. "Well, take him to the pesthouse, then."
The officer shook his head slowly.
"Gone too far for that," he said. "He has probably infected the others. Let no man leave the ship," he called out loudly to some of the crew who were moving away in the haste of fright. "I declare this ship in a state of quarantine," pursued Silverado, in a tone of command, producing a document bearing an official red seal. "We will send you a yellow flag, captain, and you will remain here subject to official orders."
"Quarantined?" cried the captain, bristling up. "And for spotted fever? See here, colonel, we have a skilled physician on board. We will move out to sea at once and take our own risk on this matter."
"Impossible," dissented Silverado, smiling sweetly, but with the latent malice of triumph in his undertone. "Law of the nations--no right to imperil the general safety. No, within two weeks we will give you clearance if no new cases break out. Meantime----"