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a Spanish warship to arrive and escort it home.”
    “Can it be captured?” Morton asked.
    “One would like to think so. In aggregate, the treasure ship probably contains a fortune worth five hundred thousand pounds.”
    There was a stunned silence around the table.
    “I felt,” Almont said with amusement, “that this information would interest Captain Hunter.”
    “You mean this man is a common privateer?” demanded Hacklett.
    “Not common in the least,” Almont said, chuckling. “Captain Hunter?”
    “Not common, I would say.”
    “But this levity is outrageous!”
    “You forget your manners,” Almont said. “Captain Hunter is the second son of Major Edward Hunter, of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. He was, in fact, born in the New World and educated at that institution, what is it called—”
    “Harvard,” Hunter said.
    “Umm, yes, Harvard. Captain Hunter has been among us for four years, and as a privateer, he has some standing in our community. Is that a fair summation, Captain Hunter?”
    “Only fair,” Hunter said, grinning.
    “The man is a rogue,” Hacklett said, but his wife was looking at Hunter with new interest. “A common rogue.”
    “You should mind your tongue,” Almont said calmly. “Dueling is illegal on this island, yet it happens with monotonous regularity. I regret there is little I can do to stop the practice.”
    “I’ve heard of this man,” Hacklett said, still more agitated. “He is not the son of Major Edward Hunter at all, at least not the legitimate son.”
    Hunter scratched his beard. “Is that so?”
    “I have heard it,” Hacklett said. “Further, I have heard he is a murderer, scoundrel, whoremonger, and pirate.”
    At the word “pirate,” Hunter’s arm flicked out across the table with extraordinary speed. It fastened in Hacklett’s hair and plunged his face into his half-eaten mutton. Hunter held him there for a long moment.
    “Dear me,” Almont said. “I warned him about that earlier. You see, Mr. Hacklett, privateering is an honorable occupation. Pirates, on the other hand, are outlaws. Do you seriously suggest that Captain Hunter is an outlaw?”
    Hacklett made a muffled sound, his face in his food.
    “I didn’t hear you, Mr. Hacklett,” Almont said.
    “I said, ‘No,’ ” Hacklett said.
    “Then don’t you think it appropriate as a gentleman to apologize to Captain Hunter?”
    “I apologize, Captain Hunter. I meant you no disrespect.”
    Hunter released the man’s head. Hacklett sat back, and wiped the gravy from his face with his napkin.
    “There now,” Almont said. “A moment of unpleasantness has been averted. Shall we take dessert?”
    Hunter looked around the table. Hacklett was still wiping his face. Morton was staring at him with open astonishment. And Mrs. Hacklett was looking at Hunter and when she caught his eye, she licked her lip.
    .   .   .
    AFTER DINNER, HUNTER and Almont sat alone in the library of the mansion, drinking brandy. Hunter commiserated with the governor over the appointment of the new secretary.
    “He makes my life no simpler,” Almont agreed, “and I fear it may be the same for you.”
    “You think he’ll send unfavorable dispatches to London?”
    “I think he may try.”
    “The king must surely know what transpires in his Colony.”
    “That is a matter of opinion,” Almont said, with an airy gesture. “One thing is certain; the continued support of privateers will be assured if it repays the king handsomely.”
    “No less than an equal division,” Hunter said quickly. “I tell you, it cannot be otherwise.”
    “But if the Crown outfits your ships, arms your seamen . . .”
    “No,” Hunter said. “That will not be necessary.”
    “Not necessary? My dear Hunter, you know Matanceros. A full Spanish garrison is stationed there.”
    Hunter shook his head. “A frontal assault will never succeed. We know that from the Edmunds expedition.”
    “But what alternative is there? The fortress at