She spoke in a low tone, but I could hear what she said quite well where I crouched.
Cornelys Jensen nodded his head approvingly.
The red-bearded man spoke. ‘Time it was done, too, and that we should be setting to work. I am sick of this waiting.’
‘Patience, my good fellow, patience,’ said Cornelys Jensen. ‘All in good time. Trust Cornelys Jensen to know the time to act. The fiddle is tuned, friend. I shall know when to play the jig.’
‘My feet ache for the dancing,’ the red beard growled. Barbara laughed; dropping her hands, she drew the black flag close to her, so that it fell all in folds about her body and draped her from throat to toe. Her beauty laughed triumphantly at the pair from its sable setting.
‘Put that thing away,’ said Jensen. ‘You have done your work bravely, Mistress Hatchett, and Bill may be well proud of you.’
He clapped his hand as he spoke on Red Beard’s shoulder, and the fool’s face flushed with pleasure.
Barbara laughed, and slowly folded the flag up square by square into a small compass. Jensen took it from her when she had finished and put it into a locker, which he closed with a key that he took from his pocket.