"But I refuse to have my intelligence underrated," protested Landon, gaily. "I hug it; it tells me many things which you may not suspect. One of them is that there is a lever which will displace your self-confidence. You are a very bad bearer of--physical pain." Very faint was the pulse of the emotion which throbbed through Miller's eyes as he turned them towards his companion, but distinct enough for Landon to discover and greet with another amiable little laugh. "It's where blood tells," he said. "I discovered it accidentally; we spoke of what D'Amade's men had to undergo as prisoners at the hands of the Moors, did we not? I mentioned the eyes gouged out, the fettered wounded flung on slow fires, the impaled. You flinched, my dear sir, you flinched badly and--I tried you again. I harked back to like subjects more than once; the result satisfied me. And then I began to dwell upon your complexion. Is that olive tint from Spain, or was there a near forefather in the gorgeous East? Are you of Hindoo blood, my friend--are you?" Miller's impassive eyes met his, looked deeply within them, and wandered vaguely towards the empty spaces of the sea. Landon chuckled. "By God, I wouldn't stop anywhere, with you, you renegade!" he swore with sudden, hot, irrational rancor. "I'd deal with you. Will any one stop me? Ask those men--Mafiaists, every one. Stop me! They'd give me tips; they'd mutilate you as they'd mutilate their own domestic animals, for fun!" Miller drew back a couple of paces, not with any show of disgust or fear, but with the air of an artist who wishes to regard a finished work from a more distant aspect. And he surveyed Landon keenly. "So I am being threatened?" he said quietly. Landon grinned wickedly. "So you're being threatened," he agreed. "Deliberate the matter; give it your best attention; and all the while remember that there is nothing which will stop me, not a single solitary thing." "I think you are wrong," said Miller, slowly, and then--the sound of it was bizarre to the last degree between his lips--he whistled a quaint little run, which thrilled and quavered up and down half a dozen bars to end upon a long-drawn note. There was a queer silence. Landon looked at him with a frown which implied scarcely apprehension, but what is nearly akin to it--bewilderment. For there was no mistaking the intention with which the thing was done. Miller had whistled the tripping little air deliberately. There was a stirring from below. The two hands appeared, and appeared with a suddenness which left no room for doubt that they had been summoned. The savor of burning spaghetti followed them; the summons had been one exacting instant obedience. They had left the frying-pan upon the fire. Together with their appearance came the sound from the companion of Captain Luigi stumbling to his feet. "Fling this man overboard!" said Miller, in level, indifferent tones. He pointed to Landon.