Read Ebook: Black'erchief Dick by Allingham Margery McFee William Author Of Introduction Etc

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 2670 lines and 70452 words, and 54 pages

"The knife!"

The little man who had spoken huddled his blanket closer and shuddered again. The wind dropped for a moment and a tremor ran through the full sails, as though they also had shivered.

Mat Turnby laughed, albeit somewhat uneasily.

"The knife?" he said. "Lord, what's a knife to a man who holds one of these?" He pulled a heavy flintlock pistol out of a pocket in the voluminous skirts of the sleeveless and brightly coloured coat which he wore over a rough homespun guernsey and held it on the palm of his open hand.

Blueneck smiled grimly.

"A precious great deal when the hand that holds the knife is Black'erchief Dick's," he said.

Mat Turnby laughed again contemptuously.

"Are you flesh and good red blood, or mud and pond slime, that you fear the foolish word of a Spanish sot? I tell you no knife held in a mortal hand can stand against a bullet from this."

"Ay, in a mortal hand," said he of the blanket, fearfully looking behind him.

The big sailor swore.

"Lord," he said, "I knew not that I had come aboard a ship manned with a crew of beldames. I tell you this great captain of yours would be laid as flat as Mersea mud with one little lead ball from this."

He stroked the pistol lovingly.

"Maybe," said Blueneck stubbornly. "But whoever fired that shot would die by--the knife."

"Ah! that's tremendous likely," sneered the other; "him on his back with a good ounce of lead in that wicked head of his."

Blueneck shrugged his shoulders.

"You can laugh now, Mat Turnby," he said, "but you won't always laugh at what I tell you. No, not by a long way, that you won't."

He hugged his knees to his chin, and let the heavy lids fall over his eyes.

This apparent indifference seemed to irritate Mat more than words for, bringing his hand down on his knee with a mighty slap, he swore loudly for several seconds. Then suddenly breaking off short he burst into a short, sharp laugh.

"Well!" he said. "It's time the Spanish swine knew that there's someone aboard who ain't afraid of him, no, neither him nor his knife. S'truth! am I to cower down to a Spaniard?"

He stretched his huge limbs and showed his large yellow teeth as he smiled rather sourly.

The laugh died away on his lips as from just behind his ear came another. It was soft, rich, musical, and wholly unpleasant.

At the first sound of it the three men sat rigid, and when it had ceased there was no sound for several seconds save for the water lapping against the side and the scream of the gulls overhead.

Blueneck was the first of the sailors to recover. He lifted his eyes cautiously to the direction from which the laugh had come.

He saw what he feared and expected. Up against the other side of the mast, directly behind Mat Turnby, stood a slight figure dressed extravagantly in the French style of the day, a dandy from the Brussels frill at his throat to the great silver buckles of rich workmanship which adorned his tanned shoes. But it was not these things which stopped the three sailors so suddenly in their talk and caused them to sit aghast.

The most remarkable thing about the newcomer was his face--long, lean, brown, and unhandsome, it yet had a character at once interesting and repulsive. The finely marked eyebrows met across the low, well-tanned brow in an almost straight line, and the hair--oiled and curled--showed as black as the silk kerchief which covered the greater part of head and neck. The eyes beneath the lids, fringed with heavy lashes, smiled and glittered disconcertingly. The whole face was smiling now, viciously, almost fiendishly, but yet smiling and with some enjoyment.

Blueneck's eyes dropped before that terrible smile and, as they travelled slowly downward, suddenly dilated, and he shivered as though a snake had touched him.

The figure by the mast had moved a little more round and his hand was visible. It was at this that Blueneck stared.

Among the small, white, much-beringed fingers, and round the slender wrist from which the lace ruffle had been pushed back a little, slid the thin blue blade of a Spanish stiletto. Through the thumb and first finger it slipped, over the blue vein of the white forearm, mingled its brightness with the flashing jewels on the third and fourth fingers--and so round again, all without any apparent effort or even movement of the hand. It was an exhibition to be admired and praised, yet Blueneck and the shivering little man at his side shuddered and looked away.

Mat Turnby, on the other hand, had not seen anything. He sat quite still, the pistol lying idly in the palm of his great hand, staring fixedly in front of him.

A hand, white and slender, slid over his left shoulder and away again--the pistol vanished. Still Mat did not move.

"A very pretty toy, and a useful, my friend," said the same soft voice, just behind Mat's ear.

The big sailor pulled himself together with an effort, stood up, then turned toward his captain.

Blueneck and the little man in the blanket also rose.

Black'erchief Dick had not changed his position. The big pistol and the slender knife lay side by side on his small white palm, and he still smiled as he spoke again:

He held his open hand a little nearer to the sailor.

Blueneck stared at him, fascinated, and the little man with the blanket sniffed audibly.

Black'erchief Dick's eyes left Mat Turnby for a moment and rested on the shivering little creature. "Sniff thy way aft, Habakkuk Coot," he said quietly. The little man stared at him, shivered, sniffed again, and seemed unable to move.

Slowly the Spaniard's arm lifted the pistol in his hand.

Habakkuk sniffed again and his eyes dilated with terror; a white finger raised crooked round the trigger, and pressed. There was an explosion. Habakkuk remained standing for a second, then fled down the hatchway, a jagged hole through his blanket.

Black'erchief Dick smiled and, turning to Mat, continued: "As I said, Matthew Turnby, if this day thou hadst to die, which of these weapons wouldst thou choose? Thou seest I know the manner of either," he added, and, suddenly darting out his hand, he plunged the knife between the big sailor's arm and body, so that the sleeve of the man's guernsey was skewered to the body of his coat. Still Mat Turnby neither moved nor spoke. Laughing slightly, the Spaniard drew out the knife and resumed the one-sided conversation.

"Nay, Matthew Turnby, you do but jest in keeping the thin Spanish sap in my veins so long waiting for an answer," he said with a sneer and a smile. The sailor swallowed noisily, but said nothing.

"The drunken sot of a pirate must be taught not to cross thee, Matthew," went on the Captain, and his smile had vanished, leaving only a weary expression on the lean features. "Lord! man, if thou wilt not choose, faith, I must for thee."

"Surely, Capt'n--you jest--surely."

The words came like a flood from the big man's open mouth.

An expression of surprise spread over the Spaniard's face. "I jest?" he said. "Nay, faith, good Matthew, I jest?" he repeated. "Lord, man, when didst thou get that into thy ass's pate--nay, nay, of a certainty I do not jest--which wilt thou have?"

Mat Turnby's face grew purple, but he did not speak; his tongue protruded slightly from his lips.

Black'erchief Dick looked at the weapons critically as they lay side by side in his hand.

"Ah," he said at last, holding the pistol in his left hand. "This we see, Matthew, is discharged. I beg thy pardon, se?or, for pressing a choice I could not give thee. As it is, you see, but the knife remains," and he dropped the pistol into a capacious pocket.

Mat Turnby's hand clutched at his throat and he stepped back a pace or two.

Black'erchief Dick followed him, the knife swinging lightly between his thumb and forefinger. Blueneck stood watching, his eyes fixed on the Spaniard in unholy fascination. Farther and farther back stepped the big sailor, Dick keeping always the same distance from him, until he reached the side of the boat. There he stayed, breathless with fear. Slowly the Spaniard came nearer and nearer to him, and the thin blue blade ceased to swing.

"So thou wouldst teach that 'drunken pirate' that all men are not afraid of him? Eh? Is that so? The voice seemed to grow more caressing at every word and the big sailor's eyes shut. Suddenly they opened again and looked down.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet