Madame, her beauty sadly impaired by her pallor, her weariness and dishevelled condition, interrupted his lament, to recall him to the demands of common courtesy.
«You have not yet thanked this gentleman for the heroic service he has rendered us.»
Blood caught the sneer and perceived its double edge. At last he found it in his heart to pity her a little, to understand the despair which had driven her, reckless of what might betide others, so that she should escape from this boorish egotist.
Belatedly and clumsily M. de Coulevain expressed his thanks. When that was done, Madame took her leave of them. She confessed herself exhausted, and it was the old negro, who had remained in attendance in the background, who came forward to proffer his arm and to assist her. On the threshold a negro woman waited, all tenderness and solicitude, to put her weary mistress to bed.
Coulevain, heavy–eyed, watched her depart, and remained staring until Captain Blood's brisk voice aroused him.
«If you were to offer me some breakfast, sir, that would be a practical measure of repayment.»
Coulevain swore. «Death of my life! How negligent I am! These troubles, sir…the ruin of the town…the abduction of my wife…It is too much, sir. You'll understand. It discomposes a man. You forgive me, Monsieur…I have not the honour to know your name.»
«Vandermeer. Peter Vandermeer, at your service.»
And then another voice cut in, a voice that spoke French with a rasping English accent. «Are you quite sure that that is your name?»
Blood span round. On the threshold of the adjacent room from which Colonel de Coulevain had earlier issued stood now the stocky figure of a youngish man in a red coat that was laced with silver. In the plump, florid countenance Captain Blood recognized at a glance his old acquaintance Captain Macartney, who had been second in command at Antigua when some months before Captain Blood had slipped through the fingers of the British there. His momentary surprise at finding Macartney here was dispelled by remembrance of the English frigate which had passed him as they were approaching Basseterre.
The officer was smiling hatefully. «Good morning, Captain Blood. This time you have no buccaneers at your heels, no ships, no demi–cannons with which to intimidate us.»
So ominous was the tone, so clear its hint of the speaker's intention, that Blood's hand flew instinctively to his left side. The Englishman's smile became a laugh.
«Not even a sword, Captain Blood.»
«Its absence will no doubt encourage your impertinences.»
But now the Colonel was intervening. «Captain Blood, did you say? Captain Blood? Not the filibuster? Not…?»
«The filibuster indeed; the buccaneer, the transported rebel, the escaped convict on whose head the British Government has placed the price of a thousand pounds.»
«A thousand pounds!» Coulevain sucked his breath. His dark, blood–injected eyes returned to the contemplation of his wife's preserver. «Sir, sir! Is this true, sir?»
Blood shrugged. «Of course it's true. Who else do you suppose could have done what I have told you that I did last night?»
Coulevain continued to stare at him with increasing wonder. «And you contrived to pass yourself off as a Dutchman on a Spanish ship?»
«Who else but Captain Blood could have done that?»
«My God!» said Coulevain.
«I hope, none the less, you'll give me some breakfast, my Colonel?»
«Aboard the Royal Duchess,» said Macartney, evilly facetious, «you shall have all the breakfast you require.»
«Much obliged. But I have a prior claim on the hospitality of Colonel de Coulevain, for services rendered to his wife.»
Major Macartney — he had been promoted since Blood's last meeting with him — smiled. «My claim can wait, then, until your fast is broken.»
«What claim is that?» quoth Coulevain.
«To do my duty by arresting this damned pirate, and delivering him to the hangman.»
M. de Coulevain seemed shocked. «Arrest him? You want to laugh, I think. This, sir, is France. Your warrant does not run on French soil.»
«Perhaps not. But there is an agreement between France and England for the prompt exchange of any prisoners who may have escaped from a penal settlement. Under that agreement, sir, you dare not refuse to surrender Captain Blood to me.»
«Surrender him to you? My guest? The man who has served me so nobly? Who is here as a direct consequence of that service? Sir, it…it is unthinkable.» Thus he displayed to Captain Blood certain remains of decent feeling.
Macartney was gravely calm. «I perceive your scruples. I respect them. But duty is duty.»
«I care nothing for your duty, sir.»
The Major's manner became more stern. «Colonel de Coulevain, you will forgive me for pointing out to you that I have the means at hand to enforce my demand, and my duty will compel me to employ it.»
«What?» Colonel de Coulevain was aghast. «You would land your men under arms on French soil?»
«If you are obstinate in your misplaced chivalry you will leave me no choice.»
«But…God of my life! That would be an act of war. War between the nations would be the probable result.»
Macartney shook his round head. «The certain result would be the cashiering of Colonel de Coulevain for having made the act necessary in defiance of the existing agreement.» He smiled maliciously. «I think you will be sufficiently under a cloud already, my Colonel, for yesterday's events here.»
Coulevain sat down heavily, dragged forth a handkerchief and mopped his brow. He was perspiring freely. He appealed in his distress to Captain Blood. «Death of my life! What am I to do?»
«I am afraid,» said Captain Blood, «that his reasoning is faultless.» He stifled a yawn. «You'll forgive me. I was out in the open all night.» And he, too, sat down. «Do not permit yourself to be distressed, my Colonel. This business of playing Providence is seldom properly requited by Fortune.»
«But what am I to do, sir? What am I to do?»
Under his sleepy exterior, Captain Blood's wits were wide–awake and busy. It was within his experience of these officers sent overseas that they belonged almost without exception to one of two classes: they were either men who, like Coulevain, had dissipated their fortunes, or else younger sons with no fortunes to dissipate. Now, as he afterwards expressed it, he heaved the lead so as to sound the depth of Macartney's disinterestedness and honesty of purpose.
«You will give me up, of course, my Colonel. And the British Government will pay you the reward of a thousand pounds — five thousands pieces of eight.»
Each officer made a sharp movement at that, and from each came an almost inarticulate ejaculation of inquiry.
Captain Blood explained himself. «It is so provided by the agreement under which Major Macartney claims my surrender. Any reward for the apprehension of an escaped prisoner is payable to the person surrendering him to the authorities. Here, on French soil, it will be you, my Colonel, who will surrender me. Major Macartney is merely the representative of the authorities — the British Government — to whom I am surrendered.»
The Englishman's face lost some of its high colour; it lengthened; his mouth drooped; his very breathing quickened. Blood had heaved the lead to some purpose. It had given him the exact depth of Macartney, who stood now tongue–tied and crestfallen, forbidden by decency from making the least protest against the suddenly vanished prospect of a thousand pounds which he had been reckoning as good as in his pocket.
But this was not the only phenomenon produced by Blood's disclosure of the exact situation. Colonel de Coulevain, too, was oddly stricken. The sudden prospect of so easily acquiring this magnificent sum seemed to have affected him as oddly as the contrary had affected Macartney. This was an unexpected complication to the observant Captain Blood. But it led him at once to remember that Madame de Coulevain had described her husband as a broken gamester harassed by creditors. He wondered what would be the ultimate clash of the evil forces he was releasing, and almost ventured to hope that in that, when it came, as once before in a similar situation, would lie his opportunity.