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“I’ve thought, myself, he had the free-and-easy look of a regular buccaneer, with those rings in his ears, and that red handkerchief about his head,” said Amos. “As long as he carried out his contract with us I made up my mind it was really no business of ours, even if he turned out to be a pirate.”

“But watch him look over this way every little while, and you’ll feel that he’s got us on his mind. I think, Amos, he’s concluded we’re English boys, and, as some of these Greek sailors are apt to be hand in glove with the Turks, perhaps he may be plotting to hand us over to the enemy, expecting to profit thereby.”

“Whew! I wonder now!” whiffed Amos, as though the idea rather staggered him.

“Of course, as I said before, it’s pretty much all guess work with me,” Jack repeated, “but I’ve been fairly successful in reading faces. Honestly, if you asked me what I thought of our skipper, I’d say he might be a man who would turn on his best friend, if the pay was big enough.”

“I wish we knew the truth,” muttered Amos. “We might do something to put a peg in his nice little game. Each of us is carrying a shooting-iron now, for self-defense, even though we decided not to go armed when near the firing line, for fear of being roughly handled in case we fell into the hands of the Germans, as almost happened several times.”