We left L'Estrange waiting at the door of Stacy's cabin; he heard the bolts within being unbarred, and in another moment the door was opened by Bill himself, who beckoned L'Estrange to enter without even saying a word of recognition, and no sooner had admitted his guest than he began again to bar the door. Bill was somewhat beneath the average height, but this was fully compensated for by his immense breadth of chest, and prodigious physical strength. His hair was lank, black, and matted down on his head; beneath his shaggy eyebrows gleamed piercing grey eyes; he wore neither beard nor moustache, but his whiskers formed what is commonly called a "hangman's collar," and were jagged and dusty with snuff. In his early days Bill's features had not been ill-looking, but time, and a life of hardship and exposure, had made sad ravages. His face was bloated by constant use of intoxicating liquors, weather-beaten by a seafaring life, and bronzed by exposure to a fierce tropical sun. There was something brutal in his manners, sinister and forbidding in his appearance. His brow was disfigured by a ghastly scar, and he looked, what he was in reality, a pirate and smuggler. He was dressed in sailor's costume, a sou'-wester on his head, and a rough pilot jacket buttoned closely round his broad chest. In his mouth he carried a small black cutty pipe, and wore on one of the little fingers of his large tanned hand a diamond ring of immense value.
Whilst this worthy was securing his door, L'Estrange found his way along a dark, narrow passage to old Stacy's storeroom. It was a long, low-roofed chamber, dimly lighted by a ship lamp, which swung from the ceiling, and shed its flickering beams on a strange and varied assortment of smuggled goods. There was only one window, or rather lattice, with small diamond-shaped panes of glass; it was now unsparred, and this had been the light which guided L'Estrange to the door. On the dusky walls hung cutlasses, pistols, and other deadly instruments of warfare, and beneath them were ranged rows of barrels, cases of tobacco, bales of muslin, and other foreign goods, all contraband, and scattered here and there in inextricable confusion. In the corner of the room furthest off a huge mastiff, chained to an empty barrel, which served for its kennel, kept guard over the cabin, and as L'Estrange entered, sprang out to the full length of his chain, growling and barking in the most ferocious manner, and displaying, at the same time, a set of splendid teeth and four terrible fangs. Woe to the intruder who came within chain's length of Fury! It was not, however, the strange medley, nor the desperate look of the apartment, nor the bandog's ire that made L'Estrange start back as if an adder had bitten him—no, it was none of these, he had seen them all before, often and often had he heard the watchdog's challenge. It was another inmate of this den—a face he saw where least he had expected to see it—which made our hero start back! Seated before the fire, which was made of drift-wood, on a barrel of gunpowder with the lid half broken off, displaying the deadly dust to view, sat a young man smoking a small black pipe, mounted in silver. If this pipe has not already betrayed him, our reader will at once recognize him from his short black hair, fierce moustache, and bold dark eye, to be none other than Captain de Vere. Beside him was a small round oak table, on which stood a silver tankard, holding a gallon of strong ale; a bottle of illicit whiskey, with the cork drawn; two toddy glasses, with silver spoons inside them, and several smaller glasses; on the floor lay a corkscrew with a cork still in it. The Captain sat with his eyes bent on the ground, smoking abstractedly, and would probably not have noticed the intruder had it not been for Fury's angry growl. He picked up a piece of drift-wood lying on the hearth, and, glancing towards the enraged animal, exclaimed, "Be still, you black devil," at the same time hurling the piece of wreck, which struck the animal a heavy blow, and sent it howling with pain into its barrel again. Having stilled the dog, the Captain next turned round to see the intruder. If L'Estrange was surprised to see De Vere, no less so was the Captain to see him there.
For some seconds they stared at each other without speaking a word; at last the Captain broke silence by exclaiming: "Well! I'm blowed," at the same time emptying the burning ashes of his pipe on the top of the barrel with the utmost nonchalance. Had one spark fallen into the powder, no one in that room would have ever lived to tell the tale!
"You will be blowed if you don't take care," replied L'Estrange, shuddering with horror at the careless action.
"A truce to your puns, and tell me what in the name of heaven has brought you to such a place at such an hour?"
"I might ask the same question of you, De Vere. I came, however, to see Stacy on some private business."
"So you have steered for old Bill, have you?"
"And what in the name of the foul fiend had you to say to me, my messmate?" muttered the old man, who had since entered the apartment.
"I had much to see you about, Bill—some private business of the greatest consequence."
"Private business be hanged," shouted the Captain, "there are no secrets here; was it with the black-eyed Antonia your private business lay, eh, L'Estrange?"