Captain Marpole stared in astonishment, first at him and then at the much be-painted faces of the ‘ladies’ pressed against his cabin skylight. ‘Who the devil are you?’ he contrived to ask at last. ‘I hold a commission in the Columbian navy,’ the stranger explained: ‘and I am in need of a few stores.’ (Meanwhile his men had the hatches off, and were preparing to help themselves to everything in the ship.) Marpole looked him up and down. It was barely conceivable that even the Columbian navy should have such a figure of an officer. Then his eye wandered back to the skylight: ‘If you call yourself a man-of-war, sir, who in Heaven’s name are _those_?’ As he pointed, the smirking faces hastily retreated. The stranger blushed. ‘They are rather difficult to explain,’ he admitted ingenuously. ‘If you had said _Turkish_ navy, that would have been more reasonable-sounding!’ said Marpole. But the stranger did not seem to take the joke. He stood, silent, in a characteristic attitude: rocking himself from foot to foot, and rubbing his cheek on his shoulder. Suddenly Marpole’s ear caught the muffled racketing forward. Almost at the same time a bump that shivered the whole barque told that the schooner had been laid alongside. ‘What’s that?’ he exclaimed. ‘Is there some one in my hold?’ ‘Stores ...’ mumbled the stranger. Marpole up to now had lain growling in his bunk like a dog in its kennel. Now for the first time realising that something serious was afoot he flung himself out and made for the companion-way. The little silent fair man tripped him up, and he fell against the table. ‘You had much better stay here, yes?’ said the big man. ‘My fellows shall keep a tally, you shall be paid in full for everything we take.’ The eyes of the marine coal-merchant gleamed momentarily: ‘You’ll have to pay for this outrage to a pretty tune!’ he growled. ‘I will pay you,’ said the stranger, with a sudden magnificence in his voice, ‘at the very least five thousand pounds!’ Marpole stared in astonishment. ‘I will write you an order on the Columbian government for that amount,’ the other went on. Marpole thumped the table, almost speechless: ‘D’you think I believe that cock-and-bull story?’ he thundered. Captain Jonsen made no protest. ‘Do you realise that you are technically guilty of _piracy_, making a forced requisition on a British ship like this, even if you pay every farthing?’ Still Jonsen made no reply: though the bored expression of his mate was lit up for a moment by a smile. ‘You’ll pay me in _cash_!’ Marpole concluded. Then he went off on a fresh tack: ‘Though how the devil you got on board without being called beats me!--Where’s my mate?’ Jonsen began in a toneless voice, as if by rote: ‘I will write you an order for five thousand pounds: three thousand for the stores, and two thousand you will give me in money.’ ‘We know you’ve got specie on board,’ interjected the little fair mate, speaking for the first time.