There are times however when "needs must when the devil drives," so that it was not a question of choice but necessity with Roderic.
About this time the first faint suspicion broke in upon Jerome's mind to the effect that things might be other than they seemed.
He had no opportunity to gather up the fragments and link them together in a chain that might reveal the entire truth—some invisible power flashed a little thought into his brain—it may have been the attitude assumed by the sailor as though awaiting his attack, for there was that about it suggesting the trained athlete and not an ordinary Jack Tar, clumsy with his fists.
At any rate what did Jerome do as he came close up but bend his head forward and fix his steadfast gaze upon the other's face.
Roderic had deemed his disguise secure, and so it was under all ordinary pressure.
It had resisted curious glances from the crew of the blockade runner, and even Love's eyes had failed to penetrate beneath the surface.
There is no sight one half so keen as that of burning Hate, which seems capable of piercing all obstacles set in the way.
So it came home to Jerome with the rapidity of the lightning's flash, with whom he had to deal.
No wonder the man's attitude seemed familiar—no wonder he dared defy attack—no wonder the lovely Porto Rican belle called him her friend!
And the sudden knowledge galled Jerome.