"Proceed then, John," answered my great-uncle's voice. "You remember the way? The Green Lane,[[1]] 'tis called. Four men should be sufficient to accompany you. I will go on by another street with the rest of our party."
[[1]] Maiden Lane.
"Don't ye worry yourself, captain," returned Silver.
Footsteps thudded away on the gravel, and I heard the scratching of the one-legged man's crutch as he stumped in front of us and the cart jolted forward. They evidently went out the back way into a little alley, where their exit was least likely to be observed, and paused while Silver reconnoitred the Green Lane from its cover.
"Not a sail in sight," he said presently. "Dash my buttons what a night! Precious dark it is, and I'm main glad we didn't fetch Pew along, with his bleared deadlights to hold us back. Come along, Black Dog. Yarely, my hearties! If this breeze keeps up——"
We emerged into the Green Lane, heading toward the East River, and a thrill tickled my spine as I heard the chanting tones of old Diggory Leigh, our ward watchman.
"Ten o'clock of a clear, dark night, and the wind in the nor'west. And all's well!"
"Easy, all!" whispered Silver's voice. "Push on, ye swabs; push on! But hold your gab. I'll do the talking."
The steel piece on the butt of his crutch tinkled on the cobbles as he stumped ahead of the cart.
"Ho there, shipmate," he hailed cordially. "And does you do this the whole, livelong night?"