“Your honor best knows. He bade me tell you that. With your permission I shall seek my horse.”
“Be not so quick to take offense. Sit down again and explain your errand.”
“My only other purpose was to enter your service, and on that point I have changed my mind.”
“Sit down, fool. I take back what I said. Can you not pardon an old man’s temper?”
Plainly my allusion to the buccaneer had touched him home. I knew by the look in his face that by that clew I could wind him round my finger; but I saw too that I must be careful not to run my own head into a noose while I made the attempt to snare him. As yet I had succeeded in arousing only his interest and, perhaps, his suspicion. For a moment I stood with my eyes on the ground as if debating with myself. Then I answered:
“You have spoken like a gentleman. I likewise retract my hasty speech.”
He gave me his hand.
“We begin to understand each other, Monsieur St. Vincent. I was wrong in my first impression. Frankly, I took you for a spy who would not leave till you had wormed some information out of me. But I am satisfied. You have not the manner of a spy. Now tell your tale.”
He fitted the palms of his hands together, idly paddling the tips of his fingers against each other. This was a habit, I afterwards learned, that he often resorted to, especially when he was at a loss to comprehend the situation. I went on to tell the patroon a made-up tale of my adventures with the buccaneer.
“Captain Tew,” I said in the course of my narrative, “was for helping me, and, as I was bound for New York, he put me ashore near Gravesoon, telling me to come to you. He assured me that you and the previous governor, Colonel Fletcher, were well acquainted with him, and that you were always on the lookout for a good blade and a faithful servant.”