"Piracy: the seizure of a vessel and the murder of her officers by the crew."

All Carew's indifference vanished now. He let the cigar he was smoking drop from his fingers, and, turning his head, he looked at his visitor's face with a steady, fierce look, as of some wild beast that awaits the attack of another, and has strung all its nerves to resist its foe to the death. The Dutchman, whose eyes were directed downwards at that moment, did not observe that look.

The slumbering conscience had been awakened again with a rude start by those words. For a moment Carew lost his head and fancied that this garrulous man was a police detective who knew everything and had been playing with his prisoner all this while. Then he looked at his visitor's face again, and felt rea.s.sured, realising the absurdity of such a supposition.

The advocate, quite unconscious of the perturbation he had caused, continued--

"Yes, it was a terrible story. Perhaps you remember reading in the papers some months ago of an act of piracy in the Spanish Main. A vessel trading from Curacoa under the Dutch flag was seized by her crew--a lot of Spanish and Mulatto cut-throats. They murdered the captain, the mate, and a few honest Dutch sailors who stood by their officers. Then the mutineers sailed for Puerto Cabello, where, as usual, there was a civil war, with the intention of selling the vessel to the revolutionary party, which was in need of transports. When they arrived there the revolution was over; the Government seized the vessel, but the ruffians contrived to escape up country."

"I remember all that well," said Carew. "The story made a great noise at the time."

"Now it happens," said the advocate, "that three of these ruffians shipped as sailors in a South American port on board of a vessel bound for Rotterdam. One day a Dutch sailor from Curacoa enters a drinking shop on the Boompjees, and sees, sitting down at a table over a bottle of schiedam, three men whom he recognises as part of the crew of the ill-fated _Vrouw Elisa_. He calls in the police, and now these gentlemen are being tried for their lives."

"To be hanged if found guilty, I suppose?"

"I hope so; but I am afraid that they will be acquitted. Everyone is morally sure of their guilt; but, unfortunately, the evidence for the prosecution has been so confused and contradictory that their ident.i.ty has not been satisfactorily settled. The counsel for the defence is a very able fellow too."

"What countrymen are they?" inquired Carew.

"Two are Spaniards and one is a Frenchman. I think the Frenchman was the ringleader of the mutineers, for he looks a clever rascal. And now, Mr.

Allen, the trial will probably conclude this afternoon. The court is very crowded, but I can get you in. Come along, and you will be able to compare the Dutch and English criminal procedure."

Carew would have preferred to decline the invitation, but in ordinary politeness found it difficult to do so; and he accompanied the native lawyer--who undoubtedly possessed the gift of the gab, if no other qualifications for his profession--to the law courts.

Carew felt anything but easy in his mind as he walked through the main streets of the town, at this hour of the day crowded with a motley throng, including not a few of his own countrymen, bent on pleasure or business. Pretending to listen to his companion's unceasing gossip, the solicitor looked anxiously about him as he went, fearing at each step to see some well-known face from Fleet Street. The glaring sunshine had rejoiced his soul when he was out on the lonely seas, but in the hives of his fellow-men he shrank from the all-searching light, and experienced guilt's instinct for safe obscurity.

But he saw no one he knew on his way, and was much relieved when Mr.

Hoogendyk procured for him, after some difficulty, a seat in a remote and dark corner of the court, where he could see and hear, himself unseen.

Carew soon became so interested in watching the faces of the three men who were being tried for their lives that, in spite of the advocate's whispered suggestions on the subject, he paid no attention to the procedure, and did not endeavour to compare the Dutch and English legal systems. He took no interest in law now; he was indeed heartily sick of it, and hoped that he had washed his hands of it for ever.

Of the three men only one had a really unprepossessing and murderous countenance. A murderer looks much like any other man, though people who take their ideas from waxwork shows think otherwise. That this should be so is obvious enough. A few only of murderers have homicidal proclivities as a part of their nature, and these indeed may betray their character in their physiognomy. All the other pa.s.sions and vices of disposition can, under certain circ.u.mstances, compel the man who has the greatest horror of bloodshed to kill a fellow-being. In the large majority of cases, murder is not a tendency but the result of other tendencies.

But one of the three prisoners had indeed a villainous appearance. He was a big, clumsily built Spaniard from the Basque countries, with a heavy, animal face and an evil mouth, indicative of the stupid cruelty of some savage beast.

The other Spaniard was a short, stout man, with a jovial face and an enormous black moustache, which he twirled occasionally with a complete _nonchalance_. There was nothing of the murderer in his appearance.

Neither of these two men exhibited any signs of fear. The first faced death with the dogged pluck of an animal, the second with a somewhat higher sort of courage.

The third man alone, the Frenchman, showed that he was suffering the agonies of acute terror. The little Spaniard, observing this, nodded to him now and then, smiling maliciously, and the big man scowled at him with surly contempt. The Frenchman's face was quite white, and the perspiration poured down it in streams; his lips quivered, and, holding on to the rail of the dock with hands tightly clenched, he listened with intense attention to every word of judge or advocate.

The features of this man, though distorted with fear, were delicate and refined. His handsome face was more like that of a Provencal gentleman than of a rough sailor. He was a well-knit man of about thirty, with the blue-black hair of the South. Over his fine and expressive eyes were bushy black brows, which almost met on his forehead, giving him a somewhat sinister appearance.

Carew found himself taking a strange, morbid interest in watching these three faces. In some way he identified himself with the prisoners. Had not they committed a crime only in degree differing from his own? The day might come when he too would be tried for his life. He wondered whether he would then look like the dogged Basque, the cowardly Frenchman, or the other. He had always flattered himself that he did not fear death; but how difficult to know how he would face it until his time came!

At last, amid complete silence, judgment was given. Carew could not understand the words, but he knew their import--

"Not guilty!"

The spectators groaned and hissed when they heard this decision. The Frenchman fell back fainting. The big Spaniard glanced boldly round the court with a ferocious scowl, and he made an involuntary motion with his right hand, as if he held his knife in it and was longing to rip up a few of his enemies. The little man smiled, and bowed pleasantly to the court, after the manner of an actor who is acknowledging his tribute of applause.

CHAPTER V

The attorney and Carew left the court, the former volubly indignant at the miscarriage of justice, the latter moody and thoughtful.

"And now," cried the Hollander, "here we are at the best cafe in Rotterdam. Come in, and let us wash out the taste of crime with some beer."

They sat down at one of the little round tables, and two tall gla.s.ses foaming at the brim were placed before them.

"They have all the English papers here," said the advocate. "I will ask the waiter to bring you one."

Carew looked round the room, and suddenly his face paled, for he saw sitting at a table at some distance off a fellow-countryman, whom he recognised as a tobacconist in Fleet Street, a man who, no doubt, knew Carew's name and profession well, for the solicitor had often made purchases at his shop.

Carew did not lose his presence of mind. The man was reading the _Times_, and had, in all probability, not yet observed him.

"Mynheer Hoogendyk," he said, "I am sorry that I must leave you now. I hope you will excuse me. I have an engagement, and in your agreeable company I had forgotten all about it."

"You flatter me, sir," replied the advocate with a bow. "I trust that you will honour me by dining with me to-morrow at eight, your English hour, I believe, for that repast. My wife speaks English well, and will be delighted to see you."

"I accept your invitation with the greatest pleasure, mynheer."

Then they rose to go, and Carew contrived to keep his lively companion between him and the man from Fleet Street as they walked out of the cafe.

The solicitor felt ill at ease until he had left behind this bright and crowded portion of the city, and was once again in the region of the gloomy and malodorous slums where the yacht was lying.

He saw how necessary it was that he should leave Rotterdam the next day if possible. It was no place for him. His recognition by some one or other must occur sooner or later if he stayed here. So, having dined in a dingy little hostelry on the quay opposite to the yacht, he visited some of the least-frequented streets, and purchased the few necessaries for the cruise which he had not already procured. He came across a fisherman on the ca.n.a.l who was willing to sell him a small, clumsy boat which could serve him as dinghy. After some bargaining in pantomime--for neither understood the other's tongue--Carew secured this for the sum of three pounds.

Pa.s.sing an apothecary's shop, it occurred to him that it would be well to take some of the more necessary medicines with him, seeing that he might be some months at sea without calling at any port. He entered the shop and proceeded to draw up a list of his requirements, to which, as an afterthought, he added some drugs in less common use.

"These last are poisons," said the chemist in broken English. "I cannot supply you with these unless you are a doctor."

Carew, with bold invention, explained that he was the captain of a vessel, and as such was the ship's doctor, and had a right to any drugs he might choose to ask for; and he produced his Admiralty warrant in proof of his statement.

The man was puzzled, perused the warrant without understanding it, and at last, reluctantly waiving his scruples, gave the solicitor all that he required.

His vessel was now completely fitted out; nothing was wanting but a crew, and here a difficulty presented itself. He felt that it was highly important that no one in Rotterdam should know that he was sailing for Buenos Ayres, else the report that so small a yacht was about to undertake so long a voyage would spread rapidly, and would soon appear in the English papers. He wished it to be supposed that he was merely taking a few weeks' cruise in Dutch waters.

But then, how would his men take it were he only to divulge his destination to them when they were well out at sea? The probability was that they would refuse to obey his orders, and insist upon returning.

Professional sailors are not fond of ocean voyages in tiny craft.

Evidently his only plan was to prowl about the docks that night, select with care three likely-looking men for his purpose,--men without wives or ties of any sort,--bring them on board the yacht, offer them good pay, and at the last moment tell them where he was bound for. Then, if they still consented to accompany him, he would sail away at once, allowing them no opportunity of gossiping with their friends on sh.o.r.e.

Willem, he knew, was not the man for him. The honest Dutchman must be discharged at once on some pretext or other.

Carew sat on deck, pipe in mouth, meditating on these matters. He was alone on the yacht, for Willem had gone off on leave for a few hours to visit some of his relatives.