“See, bully, how I have the whole thing in my hands. Ha! Received by the governor and his friends! They are all mad for the doubloons, which are not for them, my Radisson, but for you and me, and for a greater than Colonel Richard Nicholls. Ho, ho! I know him--the man who shall lead the hunt and find the gold--the only man in all that cursed Boston whose heart I would not eat raw, so help me Judas! And his name--no. That is to come. I will make him great.” Again he chuckled. “Over in London they shall take him to their bosoms. Over in London his blessed majesty shall dub him knight--treasure-trove is a fine reason for the touch of a royal sword--and the king shall say: ‘Rise, Sir William’--No, it is not time for the name; but it is not Richard Nicholls, it is not Hogarth Leveret.” He laughed like a boy. “I have you, Hogarth Leveret, in my hand, and by God I will squeeze you until there is a drop of heart’s blood at every pore of your skin!” Now and again Radisson looked sideways at him, a sardonic smile at his lip. At last: “Bien,” he said, “you are merry. So--I shall be merry too, for I have scores to wipe away, and they shall be wiped clean--clean.” “You are with me, then,” the pirate asked; “even as to the girl?” “Even as to the girl,” was the reply, with a brutal oath. “That is good, dear lad. Blood of my soul, I have waited twelve years--twelve years.” “You have not told me,” rejoined the Frenchman; “speak now.” “There is not much to tell, but we are to be partners once and for all. See, my beauty. He was a kite-livered captain. There was gold on board. We mutinied and put him and four others--their livers were like his own--in a boat with provisions plenty. Then we sailed for Boston. We never thought the crew of skulkers would reach land, but by God they drifted in again the very hour we found port. We were taken and condemned. First, I was put into the stocks, hands and feet, till I was fit for the pillory; from the pillory to the wooden horse.” Here he laughed, and the laugh was soft and womanlike. “Then the whipping-post, when I was made pulp from my neck to my loins. After that I was to hang. I was the only one they cooked so; the rest were to hang raw. I did not hang; I broke prison and ran. For years I was a slave among the Spaniards. Years more--in all, twelve--and then I came back with the little chart for one thing, this to do for another. Who was it gave me that rogues’ march from the stocks to the gallows’s foot? It was Hogarth Leveret, who deals out law in Massachusetts in the king’s name, by the grace of God. It was my whim to capture him and take him on a journey--such a journey as he would go but once. Blood of my soul, the dear lad was gone. But there was his child. See this: when I stood in the pillory a maid one day brought the child to the foot of the platform, lifted it up in her arms and said: ‘Your father put that villain there.’ That woman was sister to one of the dogs we’d set adrift.