“My husband hath a troubled foot,” she was at some pains to explain, “and prays you to pardon him for not being on the steps to meet you.”
Playle bowed coldly and followed his voluble hostess in silence.
Master Myddleton looked up casually as they entered, and after returning the younger man’s bow without rising he bade his wife hasten the supper, and, after waiting until she was out of the room, motioned his guest to a comfortable chair on the opposite side of the hearth.
“His worship, the Mayor and his——” began the young man sententiously as he sat down and stretched out his high mud-caked boots to the friendly fire.
Master Myddleton waved his hand.
“After we have eaten, I pray you. The morning will do,” he said. “Until then I would like to speak of this heinous crime of smuggling as carried on in this town and on the Island over the Fleet.”
Playle felt disquieted. Here he was in this old gentleman’s house, drying himself at his fire and making himself generally comfortable. How could he boldly announce that these affairs would be his care in future, and that Master Myddleton need trouble himself no further? He decided to put it off till supper was over. After all, he considered the old man must know something of use to him in his future work.
Master Playle was a very conscientious young man and one who had ambitions. He had fought for this appointment and meant to show his ability. He had served for a time in one of His Majesty’s own regiments and still held a commission.
Master Myddleton began to speak.
“We have a very difficult task before us, Master Playle,” he began in the deep pompous voice which he used on all official occasions. “I think I can truthfully say that on no other part of the coast is King Charles’ law—God bless him—more persistently and I might almost say courageously violated.”