The unseen laughed again, moved away from his screen, and presently showed himself on the edge of the shelf of rock. And Copplestone found himself staring at a queer figure of a man—an under-sized, quaint-looking fellow, clad in dirty velveteens, a once red waistcoat, and leather breeches and gaiters, a sort of compound between a poacher, a game-keeper, and an ostler. But quainter than figure or garments was the man's face—a gnarled, weather-beaten, sea-and-wind stained face, which, in Copplestone's opinion, was honest enough and not without abundant traces of a sense of humour.
Copplestone at once trusted that face. He swung himself up by the nooks and crannies of the rock, and joined the man on his ledge.
"Well?" he said. "You're the chap who sent me that letter? Why?"
"Come this way, guv'nor," replied the brown-faced one. "Well talk more comfortable, like, in my parlour. Here you are!"
He led Copplestone along the ridge behind the bushes, and presently revealed a cave in the face of the overhanging limestone, mostly natural, but partly due to artifice, wherein were rude seats, covered over with old sacking, a box or two which evidently served for pantry and larder, and a shelf on which stood a wicker-covered bottle in company with a row of bottles of ale.
The lord of this retreat waved a hospitable hand towards his cellar.
"You'll not refuse a poor man's hospitality, guv'nor?" he said politely. "I can give you a clean glass, and if you'll try a drop of rum, there's fresh water from the stream to mix it with—good as you'll find in England. Or, maybe, it being the forepart of the day, you'd prefer ale, now? Say the word!"
"A bottle of ale, then, thank you," responded Copplestone, who saw that he had to deal with an original, and did not wish to appear stand-offish. "And whom am I going to drink with, may I ask?"
The man carefully drew the cork of a bottle, poured out its contents with the discrimination of a bartender, handed the glass to his visitor with a bow, helped himself to a measure of rum, and bowed again as he drank.
"My best respects to you, guv'nor," he said. "Glad to see you in Hobkin's
Hole Castle—that's here. Queer place for gentlemen to meet in, ain't it?
Who are you talking to, says you? My name, guv'-nor—well-known
hereabouts—is Zachary Spurge!"