“I’ll see to it,” he growled.
“Mind that you do. And, when I am gone, out with the lights and on with the bolts at once.”
So saying the British sergeant turned and stepped out into Ship Street once more. The door closed behind him; the bars and chains went up, and again the man with the rings in his ears looked at his guests.
“I will not say that I am pleased to have you,” he told them with great frankness, “for the custom of such as you brings little but trouble to an inn. I’ll have soldiers about the place constantly; and, if you are gentlemen of any consequence, spies will be as thick as flies in August.”
“We are sorry to give you any trouble,” said Ezra. “But we were directed to come here and could not well refuse.”
The man grinned.
“I suppose not,” said he. “Well, if it be any comfort for you to know it, you are not the only gentlemen in Boston who are in the black books of the King’s officers. The town is full of suspected men. General Gage is a governor who acts mighty quickly in such matters, even if he won’t,” here the grin grew broader, “do the same in weightier things.”
The flickering candle lit up the place but dimly; the ceiling was low, the walls were paneled; in furnishing and equipment the room resembled the cabin of a ship.
Scarlett, who had been observing the landlord, here remarked:
“You are a man who has followed the sea in your day.”