«You killed him!» she said. She staggered where she stood, and, ashen–faced, looked as if she would swoon. «You killed him! Killed him! Oh, my God! My God! You've killed my Juan.» Thus far she had spoken dully, as if she were repeating something so that she might force it upon her own understanding. But now she wrought herself to frenzy. «You beast! You assassin!» she screamed. «You shall pay! I'll rouse the ship! You shall answer, as God's in Heaven!»
She was already across the cabin hammering on the door; already her hand was upon the key when he came up with her. She struggled like a wild–cat in his grip, screaming the while for help. At last he wrenched her away, swung her round and hurled her from him. Then he withdrew, and pocketed the key.
She lay on the floor, by the table, where he had flung her, and sent scream after scream to alarm the ship.
Captain Blood surveyed her coldly. «Aye, aye, breathe your lungs, my child,» he bade her. «It will do you good and me no harm.»
He sat down to await the exhaustion of her paroxysm. But his words had already quieted her. Her round eyes asked a question. He smiled sourly as he answered it.
«No man aboard this ship will stir a foot for all your cries, or even heed them, unless it be as a matter for amusement. That is the kind of men they are who follow Don Juan de la Fuente.»
He saw by her stricken expression how well she understood. He nodded with that faint sardonic smile which she found hateful. «Aye, madame. That's the situation. You were best bring yourself to a calm contemplation of it.»
She got to her feet, and stood leaning heavily against the table, surveying him with rage and loathing. «If they do not come to–night, they will come to–morrow. Some time they must come. And when they come it will be very ill for you, whoever you may be.»
«Will it not also be very ill for you?» quoth Blood.
«For me? I did not murder him.»