“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!” With only the delay of a second in which to unsheath his sword, Marlowe obeyed; and the dull murmur of voices grew louder as it rose unimpeded to the two above. But no one appeared in the hatchway. “They lie in wait to entrap us,” opined the poet, and then, with a hand on Vytal’s arm: “Stay, I pray you! It means certain death!” For the soldier had stepped forward as though to descend. Vytal smiled. “That night on the bridge you counted not the cost. Your impetuosity, methought, was gallant as could be. I go alone, then.” “Nay, nay, I stand beside you. Know you not that Kyt Marlowe is two men—a dreaming idler and a firebrand as well? Cast the firebrand before you, an you will. ’Twill burn a path for you, I warrant,” and with that the poet, now all impulse, leaped toward the hatchway, brandishing his sword. But this time Vytal’s was the restraining hand. “No; I but tried you. We are none of us to be caught in a stupid snare, if snare it be.” And bending over the hold, to Marlowe’s astonishment, he called for Roger Prat. Then, to the poet’s still greater amazement, Roger’s head appeared in the opening, and a fat finger beckoned Vytal still closer to the hatch.