“Dyonis Harvie.”
“He speaks truth,” exclaimed Vytal, in an aside to Marlowe. “Sir Walter Raleigh made mention of the man.” Then turning to the mate again: “To Roanoke we go. Here is a copy of Ferdinando’s chart. You are master now. See you pilot us safe and sound to the good port we started for. Heed no contradictory orders. I am Captain John Vytal an you need proof of my authority.”
Harvie’s honest face lighted up on hearing this, his sunburned brow clearing with relief. “Sir Walter Raleigh bade me seek you, captain, in case of need. ’Tis well you come thus timely.”
Vytal turned back to the prisoner. “Have you aught ready in extenuation?”
The pilot’s eyes opened slowly while he looked up for an instant at his interrogator with sullen hate in every lineament of his mottled face. Then his eyes, blinking in the light, closed again, and his lips tightened to lock in reply.
Vytal turned away indifferently. “And now to Roger at the hatches; but do you, Hugh, stay here and guard the pilot,” whereupon he led the way toward the hold.
“’Tis strange,” observed the poet, “that we heard no sound from Roger Prat.” But Vytal, making no reply, went forward, without so much as quickening his pace.
Coming to the hatches, however, they found no one, only a deep murmur of voices greeting them from below.
“Ah,” said Marlowe, who could not suppress a small show of triumph on finding the other’s surpassing confidence seemingly misplaced, “I said ’twould be well to make sure your orders were fulfilled.” And then, as the gravity of the situation grew more apparent to him: “Forgive me; ’tis ill timed. I fear the good fellow has come to harm.”
But Vytal only laughed a short, easy laugh. “I repeat once more, you know not the man. Throw open the hatch. On guard!”