“It’s heavier this time,” said Mr. Seymour. “You must give me a hand with it upstairs.”
“It’s not safe. You’ve got slippers; my sea-boots make too much noise.”
“Take them off, and walk in your stockings!” said Mr. Seymour, impatiently.
The other man growled, but came forward, set the box on the floor, and sat on it while he removed his boots. His features were still concealed from Martin by Mr. Seymour’s figure between him and the candle half-way down the hall. He stood up.
“Heave ho,” he muttered.
And then Martin started, and instinctively shrank back a little. When he looked out again the two men, carrying the box between them, were full in the light of the guttering candle, and in the larger of them he recognised the black-bearded stranger whom he had first seen at the river stairs in the company of Mr. Slocum, and whom he had rowed down to Deptford in Jack Boulter’s wherry.
CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH
BLACKBEARD VISITS THE BAKER
The astonishing discovery that Mr. Seymour and Blackbeard, as he called the stranger to himself, had dealings in common kept Martin awake for a good many hours.