"Let's get this matter straight, young Yankee. You say you're going to do this whole thing yourself." He leaned forward. "How?"
Unabashed, Adam crossed his legs; he took a knee in his hands.
"There's an ordinary called Walter's, on the waterfront over in Kingston. It's their headquarters." He looked at the admiral. "I don't know whether you knew that, sir?"
Benbow grunted.
"I didn't. Go on."
"It's a respectable place, to look at. But you can always get messages through to Providence from there. No, don't raid it! You wouldn't learn anything, and they'd only shift to another place."
"And you think you can kick up a revolt from there?"
"I can try, sir. I've got friends on Providence."
"You've got enemies there, too, from what you say. What about this man van Bramm? Wouldn't he be sure to hear of anything like that and nip it short before it got going good?"
Adam paused.
"Well, wouldn't he?"
"I reckon he would," Adam admitted. He cleared his throat, uncrossed his legs. "All right, then. What if I didn't even look in at Walter's? What if I went straight to Providence myself?"
"Alone?"
"Alone."
"I could let you have some men. Not many, but they'd be good men."
"No. That would only bring 'em together. They'd all turn and fight outsiders. But maybe alone I could work with my friends."
"Still sounds mad. You'd go in disguise?"
"Something like that. You could arrange to have me dropped from some vessel in convoy that's passing there at night. All I'd need is a small sloop. I could find my way in. And I know just where I'd land, without being seen."
Benbow put one hand over the other, on the coverlet. They were large coarse hands, though they were clean. He regarded Adam for a long time.
"Captain, I think you're a lunatic," he said at last.
"No, sir, I'm not."
"But I'm beginning to wish I'd had a few lunatics like you off Santa Marta."
Adam flushed.
"Why, thank you, sir!"
"And now let's get down to cases. Of course you're not offering to do all this for nothing?"
"Of course not."
"Good. And what is it you want in return?"
"Only two things. Both of them easy, for you."
"Yes?"
"First, a derelict I took last summer and brought in here. French. A brig. I'm entitled to her and I have my claim in, but the way things are done in the admiralty courts here sometimes—well—"
"Captain, when you have eliminated that pesthole on Providence by whatever means at all, the brig's yours with ribbons on it. And the other thing?"
"A word from you would straighten that all up, too. I want to see Horace Treadway's will probated and his estate settled, so that his cousin can get her just share of it and settle her debts here."
"Oho!" Now the eyes were opened very wide, and the hands on the coverlet moved a bit, and the admiral stirred under the sheets. "So now I know who you are, Captain! You're this young Yankee who set Maisie up in that house back on the Constant Spring road. Now don't stiffen! You can't even dream of calling me out. I'd only laugh at you. And I knew Maisie Treadway long before you ever met her. Tell me one thing, Captain. And stop being so uppish. After all, I've insulted better men than you—and will again, sir. Tell me: If you do your part of this bargain and I do mine, will Maisie Treadway use the money to take herself somewhere else? Could that be one of the terms?"
"Mistress Treadway," Adam said, "would be right happy to leave the colony."
"And the colony would sure be right happy to see her go. Very well. That's an agreement then, eh? Here's my hand on it."
"And mine, sir."
Two minutes later Admiral Benbow was telling an astonished sergeant of marines:
"Please escort this desperate character out. And see that he don't get hurt. I need him."
Not only was the sail painted black but sometimes, it seemed, so was the shore. Providence by ordinary was a light-colored island, humped with rolypoly hills but not in a proper sense mountainous, indeed little more than a glorified atoll. It had not been hard to pick up; but it was proving to be singularly hard to hold, on this night of no moon.
This was eight days after Adam had talked with the admiral, and he had been at sea virtually all of this time. John Benbow, when he made up his mind about anything, didn't dillydally. There was a real need for speed in this case anyway, he'd pointed out. The more time spent on preparations, the greater the chance that some spies from Providence would get wind of the scheme and send a fast sailing craft to warn van Bramm.
Adam had been careful. He had not even gone near Walter's saloon, the innocent-seeming pirate headquarters in Kingston. Except for the captain, nobody aboard the warship on which he sailed the very next morning after his talk with the admiral, knew who he was or where he was bound—or why.
The haste had another good feature. It shortened to a matter of minutes Adam's time for saying farewell to Maisie Treadway. He was grateful for this. It was hard for him to face Maisie now. It hurt him, inside.
"That sounds madness, Adam."
" 'Tis risky but not mad. There'll be no moon. I know the very beach where I'll land, the far side of the bay from the fort. From there it's only a short walk around to Sharpy Boardman's and you don't have to pass any other huts on the way. He's the one with the tops of his ears torn off. He'd do anything for me."
"And then what?"
"I don't know. But it shouldn't take long to find out."
"What if van Bramm hears you're coming?"
"He won't."
The skipper of the warship, too, voiced this concern: what if van Bramm had heard? Again Adam expressed assurance that van Bramm wouldn't. This was when they were swinging Adam's sloop overside, on a night of long dark rolling seas.
"They could've sailed circles around us. You know how it is in a convoy—you've got to stay back with the slowest vessel."
"He won't hear. He wouldn't believe it if he did."
"Never dreamed anybody'd be such a fool maybe," the skipper had muttered. "Well, good luck to you. Thank God all I have to worry about is hurricanes and the French and the Spaniards."
Adam made the last part of the outside trip as much as anything by ear, by the sound of breakers slamming against the rocks of the Point just below the fort. They'd be coming in big tonight, making a heap of noise. He couldn't see them.
Once inside the pass, however, things were quiet. No light showed. Vessels, clustered as though for protection, creaked and squealed as they rocked at anchor. Adam avoided them. His was an inconspicuous, small ratty craft. He might have been anybody from the settlement, fishing. Nevertheless he didn't care to be hailed. He had never seriously considered John Benbow's perhaps jocular suggestion that he grow a beard. Beards weren't fashionable, even on Providence, where one would stand only for slovenliness. Nor had Adam gone in for any sort of disguise. That would be sneaky, the way he looked at it.
He wore his sword, and he carried also a sheath knife. He had no other arms.
It was extremely dark, almost -malevolently dark, with the sky showing not the smallest hint of dawn, when Adam rode the sloop ashore.
This was a desolate spot, albeit within the half-circle of the bay. The beach, shardy, was not deep. Palmetto scrub grew close to the shore, along a reaching ridge. Crabs scuttled clumsily for the sea. Each time a wave receded the little stones clicked anxiously together and the water gurgled, a throaty sound.
Adam hauled the boat in, dropped the sail, unstepped the mast. The tide was high.
He froze.
He had heard a sound above the soughing of the wind, the hiss and gurgle of water, the clack the stones made.
It was the sound of muffled laughter, a giggling, a snickering.