"My pal Martin, 'cording to his word."
"D'ye know this fellow, Martin?"
"Aye!" I nodded and told briefly how and where we had met.
"God-be-here Jenkins am I, master," said Godby, "and well beknown to Joel Bym as keepeth this house, strangle me else—ask Joel! And if you're Master Penfeather I've first, this here for ye, and second, a warning." And speaking, Godby drew a letter from the breast of his leathern jerkin.
"A warning?" says Penfeather, glancing at the superscription, "Against whom?"
"A black dog as goes erect on two legs and calls himself Gregory Bragg."
"You mean Lady Brandon's under-bailiff?"
"I do so. Well, he be no friend o' yourn, and what's more, he's hand and fist wi' others as be no friends o' yourn either, cut-throat sailor-men and black rogues every one."
"How d'ye know 'em for sailor-men?"
"By their speech, master—I was a mariner once—and moreover by a ranting, hell-fire chorus."