Then, he laid Saxon down on a corner table, and stood watching his chance companion who recognized brother intriguers. Suddenly, Rodman's eyes brightened, and he beckoned his lean hand toward two men who stood apart. Both of them had faces that were in strong contrast to the swarthy Latin-American countenances about them. One was thin and blond, the other dark and heavy. The two came across the _patio_ together, and after a hasty glance the slender man bent at once over the prostrate figure on the table. His deft fingers and manner proclaimed him the surgeon. His uniform was nondescript; hardly more a uniform than the riding clothes worn by Saxon himself, but on his shoulders he had pinned a major's straps. This was Dr. Cornish, of the Foreign Legion, but for the moment he was absorbed in his work and forgetful of his disastrously adopted profession of arms. He called for water and bandages, and, while he worked, Rodman was talking with the other man. Herve stood silently looking on. He recognized that the dark man was a ship-captain--probably commanding a tramp freighter. "When did you come?" inquired Rodman. "Called at this port for coal," responded the other. "I've been down to Rio with flour, and I have to call at La Guayra. I sail in two hours." "Where do you go from Venezuela?" "I sailed out of Havre, and I'm going back with fruit. The Doc's had about enough. I'm goin' to take him with me." For a moment, Rodman stood speculating, then he bent eagerly forward. "Paul," he whispered, "you know me. I've done you a turn or two in the past." The sailor nodded. "Now, I want you to do me a turn. I want you to take this man with you. He must get out of here, and he can't care for himself. He'll be all right--either all right or dead--before you land on the other side. The Doc here will look after him. He's got money. Whatever you do for him, he'll pay handsomely. He's a rich man." The filibuster was talking rapidly and earnestly. "Where do I take him?" asked the captain, with evident reluctance. "Wherever you're going; anywhere away from here. He'll make it all right with you." The captain caught the surgeon's eyes, and the surgeon nodded. Rodman suddenly remembered Saxon's story, the story of the old past that was nothing more to him than another life, and the other man upon whom he had turned his back. Possibly, there might even be efforts at locating the conspirators. He leaned over, and, though he sunk his voice low, Herve heard him say: "This gentleman doesn't want to be found just now. If people ask about him, you don't know who he is, _comprende_?" "That's no lie, either," growled the ship-master. "I ain't got an idea who he is. I ain't sure I want him on my hands."