Sampayo was not of course aware that I knew he was on board, and his present attitude was probably due to the hope that he would escape my notice. “You can tell your companions my decision, Captain Gompez,” I said, and went away with Burroughs to arrange for the stores to be transferred from the _Stella_ and discuss the steps he was to take to guard against any trouble from the prisoner-passengers. “I shall run no risks, Ralph. I’ve been looking round and I can separate them and shall keep them fastened up. The old man and I discussed the course I’d better lay. There’s none too much coal on board, so I shall steam due west for a day and if the weather holds good shall just crawl about until the time’s up, and I’ve arranged where he can pick us up if you want to before the week’s out. And of course I shall keep well away from any vessels that may came along.” The two yachts were still roped together, and while the stores were transferred I went down to the “king’s” cabin and told Burroughs to send Sampayo to me. “I have sent for you to write a brief letter to Dr. Barosa telling him what has occurred,” I said without preface. “What use are you going to make of it?” “Just what I decide. It is possible that I may not speak of this thing at all.” “I’ll tell you everything if you’ll put me ashore,” he said after a pause. “Characteristic, but out of the question.” “Then I won’t write a word.” “Very well. Then I’ll get one of the others.” He looked at me eagerly, as if my words suggested a hope that matters would be made easier if he complied. “Why do you want to hound us down?” “So far as you are concerned, your old companion, Prelot, will do that.” He caught his breath with a shudder at the mention of the name. “That letter to Barosa will do no good. After you showed you knew about me, I begged and prayed him to do the only thing that would get rid of you--and he refused.” He paused as if waiting for me to question him. “He is mad with his love for Mademoiselle Dominguez,” he continued after a pause. “I said that if he would let me break with her, you would go away. He would not. It was he who planned that attempt on your life the same night. He was with Henriques. He is mad, I say. And nothing, not even this, will turn him from his purpose. He knows something about that South African affair of mine, but not all. He has had nearly all my money, he forced this farce of an engagement with Mademoiselle Dominguez, and his intention was to use the influence he would have if a revolution was provoked to force her to marry him. That’s why she has been dragged into it, and he would sacrifice every man of us rather than lose her. He would have been betrothed to her openly, but he could not break with the Contesse Inglesia. Now you know everything.” “I knew most of that before,” I replied drily. “But how did you get the visconte’s consent?”