“He’s not so stupid after all,” Martin rejoined. “I suppose he talks to keep up other people’s courage, though he’s making preparations to go. But he’ll be lucky if he gets a cart. There are so many doing the same thing that there aren’t enough carts to go round.”
“Well, I must go,” said Hopton, adding in a whisper: “Keep the old man indoors. I mayn’t be at hand next time.”
“Thanks for your help,” said Martin, with a smile: Hopton certainly did not suffer from an excess of modesty.
Mounseer himself seemed to have realised at last that his friends had given him good advice. He walked quickly, begged Martin to keep close to him, and declared that he would not stir from the house again until the Fire had ceased and the excitement died down.
When they reached home they found Dick Gollop snatching a meal. He told Martin that the services of the constables were not so necessary in the streets now that the troops had arrived to keep order.
“But it’s a terrible calamity,” he said, “and I’m afeard we’re not near the end yet. The flames are spreading: they’ve got across Cannon Street, and I was pretty near stifled as I came through Bucklersbury by the stench from the druggists’ shops. I passed the back of your old place, Martin. Does Mr. Seymour know Slocum?”
“Why?” asked Martin.
“Because I saw him coming out of the door. There was a sneaking way about him. ‘Hallo!’ thinks I, ‘has my fine gentleman been to pawn something?’ Then I thought maybe he knew Slocum, though you’ve never said you saw him at the shop.”
Martin thought it was time to acquaint the constable with what he knew of the relations between Slocum and Seymour and the captain of the Santa Maria. He spoke of Blackbeard’s visits by night, and the brass-bound boxes, and the meeting in Mr. Pasqua’s coffee-house.
“You ought to have told me all that before,” said Gollop reproachfully when the story was concluded. “Me being a man of law, ’twould have been proper I should know of them queer goings on.”