The surprise in Tim's hot face was changed to concern.
'Ye've the fever, Captain, surely. What should we be doing back on the Main?'
'I've no fever, man. Ye've heard my order. Go about and lay a course for Carthagena.'
'But Carthagena…' The mate and Doña Isabel exchanged glances.
Surprising this, and perceiving what was in their minds, Fairfax's mouth twisted ill–humouredly. 'Od rot you! Wait!' he growled, and fell to thinking.
Had he been in full possession of his vigour he would have admitted no partner to the evil enterprise he had in mind. He would have carried it through single–handed, keeping his own counsel. But his condition making him dependent upon the ship–master left him no choice, as he saw it, but to lay his cards upon the table.
'Riconete is at Carthagena, and Riconete will pay fifty thousand pieces of eight for Captain Blood, dead or alive. Fifty thousand pieces of eight.' He paused a moment, and then added: 'That's a mort o' money, and there'll be five thousand pieces for you, Tim, when it's paid.'
Tim's suspicions were now a certainty. 'To be sure. To be sure.'
Exasperated, Fairfax snarled at him. 'God rot your bones, Tim! Are you humouring me! Ye think I have the fever. Ye'ld be the better yourself for a touch of the fever that's burning me. It might sharpen your paltry wits and quicken your sight.'
'Ay ay,' said Tim. 'But where do we find Captain Blood?'