After first correcting him sharply for nothing, he coolly felled him to the deck with a handspike, and left him lying there unable to move.
Salve's blood boiled at the sight; but his indignation gave way presently to astonishment when he saw the poor fellow get up and go on indefatigably with his work, after first quietly wiping his own blood off the saucepan.

There was a limit to brutality, he thought, and in his disgust he almost envied him the blow he had received.
He provided himself now from the purser with a suit of seaman's clothes in lieu of the rather damaged cloth ones which he wore; and the sailmaker gave him out hammock clothes, to be paid for out of his wages.
He proceeded then to hang his hammock from one of the beams between decks; and while he was doing so observed another man in a canvas suit like his own, similarly occupied, not far from him.

He couldn't be mistaken--it was Federigo.
The latter had, as Salve afterwards heard, been taken by the police during the affair in the tavern.

He had seen how Salve had been rescued by the boatswain of the Stars and Stripes; and having managed to escape from his captors on the way to the guard-house, he had sought a similar refuge.
Salve's indignation at his sister's baseness was still too fresh for Federigo's reappearance to be in any way agreeable to him, although he believed him to be innocent of any complicity in that business.

At the same time, the latter's conscience was apparently not entirely clear in the matter, for there was a certain conscious sense of humiliation in his expression, combined with something which made Salve feel that he must be upon his guard.