CHAPTER XI.
ON BOARD THE SEA EAGLE.
We must now revert to the afternoon on which the redoubtable Captain Broome sailed from the harbor of San Francisco. It will be recalled that his was the first of the three vessels to leave the harbor. The captain was sitting in the cabin of the Sea Eagle in consultation with the Mexican dwarf whom, concealed in a hamper, he had smuggled on board. It was their purpose to have the boys think that the dwarf had been drowned at the time he had slipped from the professor’s grasp and plunged into the waters of the bay.
The captain was sitting in a revolving chair in front of the desk, whose top was strewn with papers and charts over which he had been pouring. His thoughts apparently had not been particularly pleasing, for there was a scowl upon his hard face which looked harder than ever, and there was an ugly glitter in his eye which boded evil for whoever crossed his path. Nevertheless, the dwarf, who was seated, or rather perched, upon the top of a worn and battered sea chest at the opposite side of the room, regarded him with indifference. If there was anything upon the face of the earth or of its waters of which the Mexican was afraid or which had the power to make him blench, he had never met it.
For a moment or two the captain glared at the dwarf, who returned his look indifferently.
“A nice mess you’ve made of this business,” growled the captain.
“It wasn’t my fault,” returned the dwarf surlily.
“Then I suppose it was mine,” snapped the captain.
The dwarf shrugged his shoulders.
“You wouldn’t let me put a knife in him,” he snarled venomously. “The sharks would have had him now.”