And at this there came suddenly a lowering shadow over his face and he tightened his grasp upon my hand and raised a forefinger threateningly before my eyes.

“Now, Jim, you tell me true; that ain’t Flint’s ship?” he asked.

At this I had a happy inspiration. I began to believe that I had found an ally and I answered him at once.

“It’s not Flint’s ship and Flint is dead, but I’ll tell you true, as you ask me⁠—there are some of Flint’s hands aboard; worse luck for the rest of us.”

“Not a man⁠—with one⁠—leg?” he gasped.

“Silver?” I asked.

“Ah, Silver!” says he, “that were his name.”

“He’s the cook, and the ringleader, too.”