From below the iron grip of the councilor dragged him down.

“That’s enough,” he whispered.  “That’s enough—­for to-night.”  He saw the pistol in Nathaniel’s hand and gave a sudden breathless cry.

“Nat—­Nat—­”

He caught Captain Plum’s free hand in his.

“Tell me this, Obadiah Price,” whispered the master of the Typhoon, “who is she?”

The councilor stood on tiptoe to answer.

“They are the six wives of Strang, Nat!”

“But the other?” demanded Nathaniel.  “The other—­”

“O, to be sure, to be sure,” chuckled Obadiah.  “The girl of the lilacs, eh?  Why, she’s the seventh wife, Nat—­that’s all, the seventh wife!”

CHAPTER III

THE WARNING

So quickly that Obadiah Price might not have counted ten before it had come and gone the significance of his new situation flashed upon Captain Plum as he stood under the king’s window.  His plans had changed since leaving ship but now he realized that they had become hopelessly involved.  He had intended that Obadiah should show him where Strang was to be found, and that later, when ostensibly returning to his vessel, he would visit the prophet in his home.  Whatever the interview brought forth he would still be in a position to deliver the councilor’s package.  Even an hour’s bombardment of St. James would not interfere with the fulfilment of his oath.  But those few minutes at the king’s window had been fatal to the scheme he had built.  The girl had seen him.  She had not betrayed his presence.  She had called to him with her eyes—­he would have staked his life on that.  What did it all mean?  He turned to Obadiah.  The old man was grimacing and twisting his hands nervously.  He seemed half afraid, cringing, as if fearing a blow.  The sight of him set Nathaniel’s blood afire.  His white face seemed to verify the terrible thought that had leaped into his brain.  Suddenly he heard a faint cry—­a woman’s voice—­and in an instant he was back at the window.  The girl had risen to her feet and stood facing him.  This time, as her eyes met his own, he saw in them a flashing warning, and he obeyed it as if she had spoken to him.  As he dropped silently back to the ground the councilor came close to his side.

“That’s enough for to-night, Nat,” he whispered.

He made as if to slip away but Nathaniel detained him with an emphatic hand.

“Not yet, Dad!  I’d like to have a word with—­this—­”

“With Strang’s wife,” chuckled Obadiah.  “Ho, ho, ho, Nat, you’re a rascal!” The old man’s face was mapped with wrinkles, his eyes glowed with joyous approbation.  “You shall, Nat, you shall!  You love a pretty face, eh?  You shall meet Mrs. Strang, Nat, and you shall make love to her if you wish.  I swear that, too.  But not to-night, Nat—­not to-night.”

He stood a pace away and rubbed his hands.