“I have heard of him; a sound mariner. Go on.”
Martin continued his story, doing his best to make its complications clear.
“Now let me understand,” said Mr. Pemberton when he had finished. “This vessel, the Santa Maria, once the Merry Maid, is on the point of sailing with a cargo which you suspect to consist of stolen goods, some of them the property of the respected goldsmith Mr. Greatorex. You say that Mr. Slocum, Mr. Greatorex’s man, is concerned in this crime with the captain of the vessel, whom you call Blackbeard, and a man named Seymour. The crew is mainly foreign; they have held an Indian boy as a slave, and they kidnapped him when you had rescued him from them, and shut you up with him in a warehouse at Deptford. Have I the story right?”
“Yes, sir; all that is true.”
“Well, let me say—and my friends will agree with me—that you have shown uncommon intelligence and courage and resource. Your running off with the barge was an admirable device and deserved to succeed. And now I understand that you wish to have a warrant for the arrest of the vessel before she leaves the river. But you must have someone in authority to execute the warrant, and in the present state of the city——”
“There’s me, your worship,” broke in Gollop, who had stood at hand. “Being a man of law in the shape of a constable——”
“Ah! Well, we must lose no time. But I have no paper, no pen—— Stay, is that a half-burnt ledger I see among the ashes there?”
Martin leapt to the spot and picked up the book. Mr. Pemberton tore out a page, hurriedly wrote a few lines upon it with a pencil, and handed it to the constable.
“There, my man,” he said, “that is the best I can do for you. I cannot swear that the phraseology is absolutely in form, but it will serve. I don’t know what you will do if your Blackbeard shows fight. There is no available force to put at your disposal; you must do the best you can. I wish you success. I shall be glad to learn the issue of this strange affair.”