"I am," he said, seeing that a man sat at a high desk by the window, with his back towards him, "the captain of the Mignonne, and I require men for His Majesty. It is told me that you can find them. Is that so?"
As he spoke the man at the desk turned round--a young man, with a short-cropped beard--while, regarding Geoffrey, he said quietly, "That is part of my affairs. How many do you want? But do you desire--well!--willing sailors or the 'kids'?"--the latter word being the usual expression for shore men who were obtained as sailors by any means, no matter how foul.
This person spoke calmly enough, yet, while he did so, there came a flush into his face as he regarded his visitor; a flush that tinged all of his cheeks that was visible and uncovered by hair.
"I must have them," the captain of the Mignonne said, "somehow, by hook or by---- Why!" he exclaimed, "who are you? I have seen you--we have met--before."
"Yes, we have," the other said, very calmly now. "At Keith's Chapel last summer. When Mr. Bufton espoused Anne Pottle. I was," and he laughed a little, "his best man."
For answer, Geoffrey stared curiously at the other across the oak counter that ran between them--stared for some moments very fixedly; then he replied:
"Ay, and so indeed you were, when the sorry rogue thought he was espousing the lady who is now my wife. Yet your beard prevented me recognising you before as one who played that part. But----"
"But," said the other, who now flushed again, and even more deeply than before. "But what?"
"If the beard you wear now prevented me from recognising you as that fellow's groomsman, it has led to my recognising you, or rather remembering your face, in some other situation. Sir, have you not been a sailor?"
"I have been a sailor," the other said, with what was truly marvellous calm, considering the feelings within him, "and once bore the King's commission."