 A float with Henry Morgan, Sir Thomas Smartford, Governor of Jamaica, has received instructions from England to put down the Caribbean's buccaneers. As he shares part of Henry Morgan's loot, he looks upon this order with disfavor. So he creates Morgan, Vice Admiral, with permission to sail as he pleases beyond the shores of Jamaica. One of Spain's ships captures a British merchantman, upon which is traveling Antoinette de Lacy, a kinswoman of Sir Thomas Smartford. Dolores Pizzaro, daughter of the Cuban Governor Don Pietro, learns that Sir Thomas has never seen Antoinette. So she proposes to her father that she go to Jamaica posing as Antoinette, and there lay plans to trap Morgan, and also get back her last fabulous Aztec Nicollet. What is this you say, my child? You go to Jamaica, to Port Royal? That is impossible. No, Father. It will be living. Better than rotting my soul away here in Cuba, attending the dull social rounds of the Havana Society. The way I have arranged things will bring about Morgan's capture. These girls, she is a kinswoman of Sir Thomas Smartford. Although Sir Thomas works hand in glove with Morgan, blood must be thicker than mere business. He knows the fate Antoinette would suffer. Do you think he willingly see his own flesh and blood go through that, when he can save her by betraying Morgan? And does that get my Aztec Nicollet back? That is gone. It is gone. It is silly to even think about it now. No, it isn't. It is in Jamaica, and I am going to get it back. Listen, Father, we cannot fail. Sir Thomas has never seen Antoinette de Lacy. All he knows is that she is a kinswoman of his and has come from France. I speak French and English, remember? No. We will do it my way. Listen, Father, Sir Thomas Smartford is no fool. Henry Morgan fills his pocket. He is going to hate seeing Morgan go. Sir Thomas Smartford is a clever man. He might trick us so that his kinswoman has returned to him and Morgan goes free. But if I go to Jamaica as the governor's kinswoman, I will mix with the cream of society. I will learn how Morgan plots his plans. I will make Morgan my friend. Even so, how will you, a mere woman, throw him into a Spanish trap? I have thought of everything. Keep Cortez here in Cuba. Every so often, under cover of night, he approaches the Jamaica shore in a small sloop. I will meet him and tell him what I know of Morgan's plans. When I have finally laid my plans and incidentally got back my necklace, I will leave with Cortez and return knowing what Morgan plans to do. We could easily catch him. Your plans are reasonable, but there are many pitfalls. We do not know how much Sir Thomas Smartford knows of Antoinette Delacy's family. We might troupe you up at the very beginning by asking a simple question about family of whom you know nothing, but of whom you should know. Then we will question Antoinette. She will have to tell us of her life for as long as she can remember. She might guess our purpose and mislead us. We will have to take that week? No. We will not take any risk. Give her to the Inquisition to question. She is a woman and under torture she will be only too willing to tell us the truth. Is that necessary, Father? She is a woman. Your safety, the Lord is at stake. Your very life is in danger. It is necessary. You will hear what she has to say. No. No, I couldn't do that. You have the Inquisition to take down her story and I will learn it by heart. So, if I consent, how will you get to Jamaica? I have thought of that too. Cortes captured the ship. Abort her is bound to be a longboat. I will sail with Cortes on the cover of night almost to the shores of Jamaica when I will set out in the longboat and make my own way to Port Orwell. And there you will tell him that you managed to escape from the Elizabeth Anne and have only just managed to reach the island. And why should they doubt my story? The governor will know that Antoinette de Lacey was aboard the Elizabeth Anne. He will know by then that it has been captured by a Spanish ship. I arrive in one of the Elizabeth Anne's boats saying I just managed to escape in the confusion. Wherein will he question my story? It depends on one thing the Lord is and I ask you to abide by my decision. You do not say definitely that I cannot go. At the moment, no. But my final decision rests on how much we learn from Antoinette's story. It depends on how much information she gives us, which will allow me to believe that you could get away with this masquerade. If you go, it will be because I would dearly love to lay hands on Henry Morgan. Oh, Hunter, you've found the flying gold. Yes, Captain. Was not difficult to find. It must be the best known ship in Port Royal. I've been paying my respects to the governor, Sir Thomas Moffatt. Know you him? I have heard of him. From your tone, I gather it doesn't please you. Don't blame you either, my lad. Don't trust him myself. But I must say that he's in the past given me his protection and that is something I've needed. And for that protection, he no doubt collects part of your gains. Say it, lad. Loot. Loot's the word. Say it. Aye, he does. But tonight he told me of trouble. Trouble? Aye, Hunter. It would seem that England has been listening to the whining Spanish. They've gone on their knees to our illustrious Charles II, begging him to sweep the seas of the Buccaneers. And he, poor fool, is listening to them. Buccaneers are outlaws in Jamaica, Hunter. Then you must find a better quarters. Now, now, that would not suit Sir Thomas Moffatt. He'd lose too much. He's created me vice admiral. And all the Buccaneers who care to join with me can come and form a fleet. Those who don't care to join are the best swept from the seas. I'll have to take certain instructions from the governor, curse it as I trust him not. You know, Hunter, if he had to choose between trouble and me, I'd be the one to be sacrificed. Then you had best walk warily with his excellency. Life's the thing that quickly changes. This very night, I berth in Port Royal and I leave to call upon his excellency. I'm sent upon by two assassins. And you come into my life to save it. I offer you a berth upon the Buccaneers ship and you accept it. And once more, the wheel of fortune turns. And instead of being aboard a Buccaneers ship, you're now serving under a vice admiral. And we've wasted enough time in talking. I have an order for you, Hunter. Aye, Captain. I want you to round up my crew. We sail as soon as possible. There is a British merchantman expected in. We must go and sear and give a safe conduct to Port Royal. The first time I've ever done any legitimate sailing in my life. Aye, Captain. Where do you advise me to look for the crew? They're easy enough to find. This will be at the place we were earlier this night, the Dolphin Tavern. And hurry, lad. Step lively. Aye, Captain. I'll have them back aboard in a short time. A warning before you go. Watch out for Diaz. He's been my right-hand man until now, but I trust him not. The things you might be taking his place. You watch him. Watch him carefully. That's enough of you, Diaz. I must be getting back now to attend to the others. There is no need to do that. You want to leave me now. Oh, you're not that too drunk to want any more liquor. They could not drink anymore. Don't you want to stay here with Diaz any longer, eh? Let go of me, Diaz, or I shall be angry. All of them are going to throw back the flying garland. Be quick about it, you. Now it's the morning, now. What are you going to get moving? Eh, who is that giving orders in Morgan's name? Why, it is the first scoundrel that was here earlier in the night. I'll tell you what, Diaz. I've left the flying garland once. And who are you to think you're going to give me the orders? Well, not my orders. Captain Morgan, get moving. You think I take orders from you? I am the one who gets the orders? You scum, you'll do as I tell you. The back of the ship. We're failing soon. I'll have a fix of you or your upstack. Look out, he has a knife. For that mate, would you? A hard fist smashes down on Diaz. His body arches. His feet leave the ground. There is a splintering of smashing wood as his body hits a rickety table and lies limply amongst the wreckage. The blade of his knife gleams white on a dirty floor. In the tap room, the sound of talking goes on unceasingly. Most of the customers are too full of rum to investigate, and in any case, the sound of violence is only too common in areas. On the impact, Kitty's slender hand goes to her mouth to stifle the involuntary cry. Her eyes are fixed and they'll inform. Have you killed him? He will live to hang yet. Without a look at her, Jeffrey crosses to pick up the unconscious man. So, I was right in what I thought about you. With a gentle gesture, in which there is a certain firmness, Kitty lays her hand on the sleeve of Jeffrey's shirt. Her presence ends vibrations at his arm, causing a shock of sudden excitement to his heart. He slowly turns to look at her. I knew the breadth of your shoulders was that it covered. As she speaks, her eyes look up into his and hold them in her gaze. Slightly, she leans her body towards him. Excitement makes his breath come in short, deep gasps. The noise of the tavern fades from his ears. All his vision can see is Kitty, Kitty whose eyes are two deep gray pools, in which a mirrored longing and a strange, exciting emotion. It is a long, long time since a woman has been in this way so near to him. Her lips, moist and near, and invitingly red and gently potted. An unbreakable and invisible barn forces his head nearer. Her long lashes are lowered and sweep her cheek. Mules, he crashes in his ears. Her lips are sweet and thirsty, aren't they? Her arms climb warmly round his shoulders. And suddenly the music stops. He hears the noise of the tavern, the disorder of the room, the cheekness of the woman, and repulsion sweeps over him. Roughly, he pushes her from him. Contemptuously wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, bends down and picks up the unconscious diets, throws him across his shoulders. Without a word or a look at Kitty, he stalks out and through the taproom. Kitty watches him go. The corners of the pretty mouth turn down. So, I'm good enough for you. Stuck a pig. You spurn me when I offer you what other men had killed for. All right, Mr. Hunter. The time will come when I'll have you crawling at me feet, begging for me the smallest favors. And I laugh at you. I laugh at you. I'm spitting your face. A woman, warm and generous, pours forth the hates of hell. Listen for the sequence of this hate in the next episode of A Flute with Henry Morgan.