"Pooh! Sir Charles Brandon, the friend of Sir Edward Parkington recognized as Long-Sword the Pirate? Impossible, monsieur! impossible!"
Parkington shrugged his shoulders. "Well, your head must bear the penalty of error, if you are detected—but it is foolishness to chance it."
"I have taken shorter chances and always won."
"I was never so amazed, in my life, as when you walked into the Coffee-house," said Parkington. "My face must have shown it."
"It did," laughed Brandon. "For a moment, I thought you were going to sing out, 'Long-Sword! Long-Sword!'"
"And I, 'what if he calls me De Lysle?'"
"Then I rendered you a most important service—one that should settle all doubt on the subject of your identity—if it arise. Not a man, around that table, will ever believe you anything else than Parkington. Your surprise, at seeing me, was too genuine to be assumed; and my addressing you as Parkington, too spontaneous to have been prearranged." He laughed softly. "We together will make a fine pair of knaves, De Lysle."
"We do—we can vouch for each other—and you, being the real Sir Charles Brandon, can vouch for me, even though I am denounced by one who knew the real Parkington.—But I do not exactly see how it is to help me if I want to change back to my own name. In fact, it looks to me, Brandon, as if it has complicated matters. However, another time for that. Tell me how you happen to be daring fate here, in Annapolis, instead of on the ocean, faring safely back to England?"
"There is not much to tell," Brandon answered. "I opened the irons, and got away, shortly after the ship was quiet—about four bells, I think. The guard outside saw me, just as I was within reach. I was forced to put his own knife in him, to keep him from yelling and disturbing the slumbers of the crew, and, incidentally my own escape. I had locked the irons, after they were off, and thrown the key down the companion way; it would look, to Jamison, as if he had lost it. After that, it was easy to drop overboard, and swim ashore.