PART ONE: The Old Buccaneer
Chapter 3: The Black Spot
(continued)
The poor captain raised his eyes, and at one look the
rum went out of him and left him staring sober. The
expression of his face was not so much of terror as of
mortal sickness. He made a movement to rise, but I do
not believe he had enough force left in his body.
"Now, Bill, sit where you are," said the beggar. "If I
can't see, I can hear a finger stirring. Business is
business. Hold out your left hand. Boy, take his left
hand by the wrist and bring it near to my right."
We both obeyed him to the letter, and I saw him pass
something from the hollow of the hand that held his
stick into the palm of the captain's, which closed upon
it instantly.
"And now that's done," said the blind man; and at the words
he suddenly left hold of me, and with incredible accuracy
and nimbleness, skipped out of the parlour and into the road,
where, as I still stood motionless, I could hear his stick
go tap-tap-tapping into the distance.
It was some time before either I or the captain seemed
to gather our senses, but at length, and about at the
same moment, I released his wrist, which I was still
holding, and he drew in his hand and looked sharply
into the palm.
"Ten o'clock!" he cried. "Six hours. We'll do them
yet," and he sprang to his feet.
Even as he did so, he reeled, put his hand to his
throat, stood swaying for a moment, and then, with a
peculiar sound, fell from his whole height face
foremost to the floor.
I ran to him at once, calling to my mother. But haste
was all in vain. The captain had been struck dead by
thundering apoplexy. It is a curious thing to
understand, for I had certainly never liked the man,
though of late I had begun to pity him, but as soon as
I saw that he was dead, I burst into a flood of tears.
It was the second death I had known, and the sorrow of
the first was still fresh in my heart.
|