Lopez nodded. Mendoza's explanation seemed plausible and feasible; but he was not altogether satisfied. His naturally suspicious nature asserted itself.
"That is as you say," he replied, "I agree to your suggestions. I will keep out of the way, but one or two trusted members of the crew must be with you in order to—to——"
"To see that I do not cheat you, Señor Lopez; is that not so? But that will not do. The secret I wish to obtain—and I swear that Miguel Fe and you will have your fair shares—is too precious to be imparted to a pair of low-born Barcelona sailor-men. The crew would soon get to know of it, and then where should we be? Now, back to your post, Lopez, I see that the two youths are beginning to take notice."
Again Lopez went for'ard.
"Perhaps that dog Mendoza is right," he muttered. "But I'll watch him very carefully, and if he plays me false, my knife is sharp and my arm is strong and sure."
CHAPTER V. THE PERFIDY OF MENDOZA
When Kenneth opened his eyes he was too dazed with the effects of the chloroform to realize his surroundings. He was dimly conscious that he was in the open air. Everything seemed to be whirling round and round. His throat was parched, his head throbbed like the piston of a motor. He was under the impression that he was in the playing-fields at school, and had been "downed" in a scrum. Labouring under that delusion he clawed the deck. Instead of moist grass his fingers encountered hot teak planking. That puzzled him still more.
A violent fit of sickness followed. Then he felt someone's arm assisting him to rise to a sitting position. A pannikin filled with lime-juice was held to his hot lips. He drank feverishly, and the cooling liquid tasted like perfect nectar.
The mist cleared before his eyes. He looked into the face of his benefactor, and recognized the oily features of Pedro Mendoza.
"You better-a?" asked the mutineer captain. "Do not fear. I your friend. Shut your eyes an' go sleep."
"I AM YOUR VERY GOOD FRIEND"—Page 54
Kenneth closed his eyes but not for the purpose of going to sleep. He felt horribly tired and weak, but the sight of Mendoza led his thoughts back into a fairly accurate channel. Laboriously he traced out the tangled skein of events into a connected train of argument, until his facts came to an abrupt termination at the recollection of seeing his father and his chum struggling to open the tightly-closed door.
Where were they? he asked himself, and in his anxiety he raised himself on one elbow and gazed around.
A few feet from him lay Peter, breathing stertorously. Propped up against a skylight was Mr. Heatherington with Mendoza in attendance, acting to perfection the part of a Good Samaritan. The Spaniard had already bandaged Mr. Heatherington's head, for in falling the latter had received a nasty gash on the forehead, which was still bleeding freely.
On the deck on the other side of the skylight lay Captain Gregory, so motionless that Kenneth was under the mistaken impression that he was dead.
"Soon be all right, señor," declared Mendoza, with monotonous reiteration. "I, Pedro Mendoza, am your ver' good friend."
Kenneth was frankly puzzled. He now remembered only too vividly the part the former Chief Officer of the Paloma had played in the attack upon the occupants of his father's cabin. He could not account for the baffling change in Mendoza's attitude. The more he thought about it the more his bewildered head throbbed, until in sheer exhaustion he lay back and fell into a fitful slumber.
It was night when he awoke. The short tropical twilight had given place to darkness, but the electric lamp under the break of the poop had been switched on.
Peter had recovered consciousness and had drawn closer to his chum. Mr. Heatherington and Mendoza had just begun a discussion, and it was their voices that had aroused Kenneth from his uneasy sleep.
"I tell you, señor," declared the Spaniard. "I tell you I am your ver' good friend. I do all I can to help you all, but my position-a ver' difficult."
"You're right there, at all events," remarked Mr. Heatherington grimly. "Your conduct will require a tremendous lot of explanation when the Paloma puts into port."
Mendoza shrugged his shoulders.
"Mutiny—yes," he admitted. "But how could I help it? If I not join in den I am made prisoner. So I pretend—only pretend, señor—to agree to the villain Lopez an' seize the ship. By an' by I talk with certain of der men, den we put Lopez in irons and all is well—what you call all plain sailing-a!"
Mr. Heatherington had not the slightest doubt but that Mendoza was acting his part with an ulterior motive. He decided to humour the man, to pretend to accept his explanations.
"It's jolly good of you to do your best to help us, Mendoza," he said. "You'll not find me ungrateful for that. Naturally, you expect to be rewarded for what you have done?"
The Spaniard grinned.
"That is so, señor," he agreed.
"And you'll get your deserts in good time, you villain," thought the Englishman, then aloud: "In that case it's not much use beating about the bush, Señor Mendoza."
"Beating der bush, what dat mean?" asked the mutineer suspiciously.
"Figure of speech," explained Mr. Heatherington, who was beginning to relish the little comedy.
"Figure of money—dat is far more important beesness," retorted Mendoza.
"Precisely what I tried to imply," added Kenneth's father. "I presume, acting upon the assumption that almost every man has his price, that you have yours. What do you want to set us ashore in no worse condition than we are at present in a fairly civilized port?"
Mendoza pretended to consider the suggestion. He was deluded into the idea that Mr. Heatherington firmly believed in his declaration of friendship, yet it puzzled him to account for the docile manner in which the prisoner behaved. He had expected to have to deal with an angry, blustering Englishman, who would probably be as stubborn as a mule. On the contrary, Mr. Heatherington seemed only too anxious to come to terms and gain his freedom—which was the very last thing Pedro Mendoza desired. To release all or any of the captives meant a speedy and effective termination to Pedro Mendoza's activities.
No, Señor Heatherington must be hoodwinked, threatened if necessity arose, and even forced to reveal his secret. Once that were wrested from him he and his companions would put to a practical test the proverb "Dead men tell no tales".
Mendoza in his heart blamed Lopez for precipitating the mutiny. His original plan was to wait until the Englishman had found the pearls, and had placed them on board the yacht. Then the rest of the business would be a fairly simple matter. However, he decided, the Englishman Heatherington was giving indications that he believed in his protestations of friendship, and in that case the black pearls were as safe as if the original plan had been adhered to.
Pedro Mendoza was too crafty to reply at once to Mr. Heatherington's pointed question.
"Señor, you are still weak from the effect of chloroform," he observed. "Night is here. To-morrow we will discuss. I regret that I must treat you as prisoners or the villain Lopez an' the others will be suspicious. It is necessary that you and the two youths shall be separated."
With that Mendoza blew a double blast on a whistle. Half a dozen men, all armed with revolvers and knives, appeared. The mutineer captain gave a curt order, and in less than a minute Kenneth and Peter found themselves under lock and key in a small cabin just abaft the main saloon.
"We've had adventure shoved on to us with a vengeance, this time, old son," remarked Kenneth ruefully.
"That's a fact," agreed his chum. "The adventure part's all right, but we've lost all along the line. The blighters did us properly."