The Pobratim Part 48

After two or three good strokes with the oars, Uros could see the name plainly; it was _?a?a??a_, exactly the name he had read in the mirror.

"Is that the s.h.i.+p you are looking for?"

"The very same one."

"Do you want to go on board?"

"Yes; I'd like to see the captain."

As soon as he was by the side of the caique he called out "_Patria!_"

for this is the name by which Greek sailors are usually addressed.

Some one got up at the summons. It was not the single-eyed man that Uros was expecting to see, but a handsome, dark-eyed, shock-headed young fellow.

"Is the captain on board?"

The youth tossed up his head negatively and said some words, but the only one that Uros understood was _Caffene_.

As soon as Uros jumped on sh.o.r.e he went off to the coffee-house by the pier, the only one at Gravosa. There were only a few seamen smoking and sipping black coffee, but the person he wanted was not amongst them.

"Do you wish to be taken on board his craft?" asked a kind of s.h.i.+p-broker, hearing that Uros was asking about the Greek captain.

A few hours before he would simply have answered negatively. Now, as he wanted to hear more of the s.h.i.+p and its crew, he asked:

"Is it the Greek captain whose caique is lying just outside?"

"Yes; the one painted in green."

"Where is he?"

"Just gone up to town. Are you going to Ragusa?"

"Yes."

"Well, as I'm going up too, I'll come with you."

An hour afterwards Uros was duly introduced to the man he had been looking for.

The captain's first question was why Uros had remained behind, and as the young man was anxious to lead the conversation about the murder, he gave all the details about Milenko's arrest, and the reason why he himself had not started with his s.h.i.+p.

"What!" asked Uros, "you haven't heard of the murder?"

"No," replied Captain Panajotti; "you see, I only speak Greek and a little of the _lingua Franca_, so it is difficult to understand the people here."

"But how is it you happen to be wanting hands? You Greeks only have sailors of your own country."

"I've been very unfortunate this trip. One of my men has a whitlow in the palm of his hand; another, a Slav, came with me this trip, but only on condition of being allowed to go to his country while the s.h.i.+p was loading and unloading----"

"Well?" asked Uros, eagerly.

"He went off and never came back."

"Are you sure he was a Slav, and not a Turk?"

"We, on board, spoke to him in Turkish, because he knew the language like a Turk, but he was a Christian for all that; his country is somewhere in the interior, not far from here. Now another of my men has fallen ill----"

"The man with the one eye?"

"What! you know Va.s.sili?" asked the captain, with a smile. "Yes, he's ill."

"What's the matter with him?"

"I really don't know; he's lying down, skulking in a hole; the devil take him."

"Since when?"

"Ten days, I think."

"But is he really ill?"

"He says he is; but why do you ask--do you know him?"

"I'll be straightforward with you," said Uros, looking the captain full in the eyes. "I think the murdered man is the Slav who left your s.h.i.+p ten days ago."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed the captain, astonished and grieved.

"I believe so."

"The one for whose murder your friend was arrested?"

"Exactly."

"Strange--very strange," said the captain, who had taken off his shoe and was rubbing his stockinged foot, "and the murderer?"

"The man who has been ill ever since."

"Va.s.sili?"

"You've said it."

"But have you any proofs?"

"I have."

"Then why did you not get him arrested?"

"I'll do so to-morrow."