“The town belongs to my uncle. He is very rich; a Grand d’Espagne ... everything; but he is now very old, and has left Havana to die in his palace in his own town. He has an only daughter, a Dona Seraphina, and I suppose that if I find favour in his eyes I shall marry her, and inherit my uncle’s great riches; I am the only one that is left of the family to inherit.” He waved his hand and smiled a little. “_Vaya_; a little of that great wealth would be welcome. If I had had a few pence more there would have been none of this worry, and I should not have been on this dirty ship in these rags.” He looked down good-humouredly at his clothes. “But,” I said, “how do you come to be in a scrape at all?” He laughed a little proudly. “In a scrape?” he said. “I... I am in none. It is Tomas Castro there.” He laughed affectionately. “He is as faithful as he is ugly,” he said; “but I fear he has been a villain, too.... What do I know? Over there in my uncle’s town, there are some villains--you know what I mean, one must not speak too loudly on this ship. There is a man called O’Brien, who mismanages my uncle’s affairs. What do I know? The good Tomas has been in some villainy that is no affair of mine. He is a good friend and a faithful dependent of my family’s. He certainly had that man’s watch--the man we met by evil chance at Liverpool, a man who came from Jamaica. He had bought it--of a bad man, perhaps, I do not ask. It was Castro your police wished to take. But I, _bon Dieu_, do you think I would take watches?” I certainly did not think he had taken a watch; but I did not relinquish the idea that he, in a glamorous, romantic way, had been a pirate. Rooksby had certainly hinted as much in his irritation.