They sat together in the _Petrel's_ cabin, and the Dutch advocate commenced to question the solicitor on English law, comparing it with that in force in his own country. Carew was hugely bored and weary of his visitor's chatter, but did his best to be civil. "And, by the way," cried the Dutchman at last, "there is a trial now proceeding which I am sure would be of the greatest interest to you; for you say that the criminal law is your particular line." "What is it about?" asked the solicitor indifferently. "Piracy: the seizure of a vessel and the murder of her officers by the crew." All Carew's indifference vanished now. He let the cigar he was smoking drop from his fingers, and, turning his head, he looked at his visitor's face with a steady, fierce look, as of some wild beast that awaits the attack of another, and has strung all its nerves to resist its foe to the death. The Dutchman, whose eyes were directed downwards at that moment, did not observe that look. The slumbering conscience had been awakened again with a rude start by those words. For a moment Carew lost his head and fancied that this garrulous man was a police detective who knew everything and had been playing with his prisoner all this while. Then he looked at his visitor's face again, and felt reassured, realising the absurdity of such a supposition. The advocate, quite unconscious of the perturbation he had caused, continued-- "Yes, it was a terrible story. Perhaps you remember reading in the papers some months ago of an act of piracy in the Spanish Main. A vessel trading from Curaçoa under the Dutch flag was seized by her crew--a lot of Spanish and Mulatto cut-throats. They murdered the captain, the mate, and a few honest Dutch sailors who stood by their officers. Then the mutineers sailed for Puerto Cabello, where, as usual, there was a civil war, with the intention of selling the vessel to the revolutionary party, which was in need of transports. When they arrived there the revolution was over; the Government seized the vessel, but the ruffians contrived to escape up country." "I remember all that well," said Carew. "The story made a great noise at the time." "Now it happens," said the advocate, "that three of these ruffians shipped as sailors in a South American port on board of a vessel bound for Rotterdam. One day a Dutch sailor from Curaçoa enters a drinking shop on the Boompjees, and sees, sitting down at a table over a bottle of schiedam, three men whom he recognises as part of the crew of the ill-fated _Vrouw Elisa_. He calls in the police, and now these gentlemen are being tried for their lives." "To be hanged if found guilty, I suppose?" "I hope so; but I am afraid that they will be acquitted. Everyone is morally sure of their guilt; but, unfortunately, the evidence for the prosecution has been so confused and contradictory that their identity has not been satisfactorily settled. The counsel for the defence is a very able fellow too."