"You wished to see me, sir," he said to Alan, and took a sidelong glance at the Captain. That polished scoundrel had, for once, lost his coolness, and, colorless with rage, was glaring at the seaman like a devil. "Joe," said the squire, as soon as he could take in the situation, "you are making a mistake." "Not me, sir! I knows a shark when I sees one." "But this is Captain Achille Lestrange." "Curse me if he is!" cried Joe vigorously. "Achille weren't no captain. This one's a captain right enough, and a blazing fine lobster he is! Jean's his name, sir, but he ain't a Scotch girl, for all that. No, it's the French lingo for John." "I am Achille Lestrange," persisted the Captain, very shrill and very short of breath. "This man is a liar!" "Say that again, and I'll knock the teeth down your throat!" growled Joe, like an angry mastiff. "Achille be blowed! I know'd you twenty year ago in the islands, I did, and a bad lot you were then. Jean Lestrange--why, there never was a wuss lot! I never did think much of Achille, for all his money; but you----" Joe spat to show his disgust. "Then this man is not Sophy's father?" gasped Alan. "Oh, he sez that, does he, the lubber? Missy's father! Why, he ain't fit to be her shoeblack!" "Achille was the girl's father," said Lestrange sullenly. He saw that it was useless to lie in face of Joe's positive knowledge. "And if I'm not her father, I'm her uncle." "That's a d----d lie!" put in Joe. "You weren't no more nor Achille's cousin. What you are to missy, I don't know. But she won't have nothing to do with you, you landshark!" "Joe, do you mean to say your late master is not Sophy's father?" "I do, sir. It's got to come out somehow, if only to put a stop to that devil's pranks. She's the daughter of Achille Lestrange." "Who was murdered by Marlow!" finished the Captain savagely. "Ah, my friends, I have still some cards left." "You'll have no teeth left!" growled Joe, making a step forward. "You're a liar, Captain Jean--you always was! Mr. Marlow----" "Beauchamp," corrected Lestrange, with a glance at Alan. "Beauchamp it is," continued Brill coolly. "Oh, you needn't be afeared that I'm going to lie! But Mr. Beauchamp never stabbed Munseer Achille, and you know it, you lubber! Let me get at him, Mr. Thorold!" "No, no, Joe!" Alan kept the irate seaman back. "We'll deal with this gentleman in a better fashion. Sit down, Joe, while we talk it over." Joe nodded, and sat down on a chair, which he placed directly before the door. With a glare that showed he noticed and resented this action, Lestrange resumed his seat. He was too clever a man not to recognize that Joe's cunning would dislocate his plans. But he was evidently determined to fight to the last. At present he held his tongue, for he wanted to hear what Joe would say. He preferred, for the moment, to remain strictly on the defensive.