“Well, Mister Lafitte,” demanded Captain Lockyer, affably, “what is your
decision?” He had turned halfway round to the door as Lafitte entered,
followed by Dominique You.
For a moment Jean did not answer, but his eyes sparkled. His companion’s
eyes were suspiciously moist. The British officers did not notice this,
however.
“I am very sorry, Captain, but I cannot yet give you my decision.”
Captain Lockyer looked askance.
“You see,” went on Jean, slowly, “first, I must consult with my
associates, many of whom are not at Grande Terre at present. Then, again,
there are several truculent Baratarians who must be er—convinced—or
else....”
The Britisher looked knowing. He winked openly as he chuckled.
“I understand,” he said, insinuatingly. “It is to be expected, of course.”
At the moment both Jean and Dominique You were mentally cursing him in
unison. But their features were impassive.
“You see,” went on Lafitte, “there are many of our men who er—er—have an
embarrassing aversion toward your countrymen. Indeed, I regret to say
that it is rather marked, in some cases!”
Dominique You coughed unobtrusively, but his face retained its
unaccustomed blandness.
“I know,” replied the doughty commander of the _Sophia_. “About how much
time would you want for your—er—persuasion?” He grinned sneeringly.
“About a fortnight,” responded Jean, casually.
“Very well, then. I’ll be back for your answer in exactly fifteen days.
How does that suit you?”
“It is excellent,” answered the Baratarian, coldly.
Captain Lockyer rose to his feet. His subordinates followed suit.
“I’m sure you’ll like your new life much better,” he went on,
conversationally, “and it will be a real pleasure to have you with us
when we thrash those American yokels.”
“As you so well did in ’seventy-six!” remarked Jean, dryly.
Captain Lockyer flushed. For a moment it seemed as if he were about to
spring at the Baratarian, so obviously angry was he.
In the nick of time, however, he caught the gleam in the eyes of the
other that spelled “Danger,” and interpreted it rightly. Captain Lockyer
was no coward, but he suddenly realized that he was not on his own deck,
but in the stronghold of the pirate.
And then he suddenly remembered the importance of his mission. He must
needs be diplomatic. Later—
He laughed hollowly.
“You have a ready wit, Mister Lafitte,” he said, attempting cordiality.
Lafitte bowed in response.
“Well,” continued Captain Lockyer, suavely, “I will be back for your
answer in exactly fifteen days. Of course,” patronizingly, “it can be but
one way....”
Lafitte smiled.
“You are right, _mon capitaine_, it can be but one way,” with meaning.
Dominique You coughed again. His face was losing its blandness. Lafitte
could not resist smiling.
But when he was again alone, Jean forgot the Britisher and his mission
for a moment. He was thinking of a girl in the moonlight—of a woman’s
declaration of ideals that had suddenly sprung from the obscure recesses
of the years to influence a decision of momentous import to a whole
nation.
In that fleeting clairvoyant instant Jean Lafitte saw what it is given to
few men to see—and recognize.
He saw that he had reached a turning-point in his life.
Being only human, he was appalled. And thrilled. And vaguely disquieted.
Jean sighed.