“I might with equal justice demand the same of you,” he answered. “But as I have ridden express from Dartmouth with a message for you, I may as well acquit me here of my errand.”
“For me?” I cried in still more surprise.
“Aye,” he replied, drawing a sealed paper from his breast; “though I little expected to find you here when I saw the light from the road yonder. Curse me, if I understand it!”
“That is my affair,” I said coldly. “Give me the letter.”
“Aye, but,” he continued, unheeding my words, “your uniform—and— ’Sdeath! whom have we there?”
He had, for the first time apparently, observed the inanimate figure behind me. And at that moment the earl stirred slightly and groaned. I had placed myself so as to screen his face from De Brito’s view and I now hastened to answer the latter with what carelessness I could assume.
“’Tis a long story,” I replied, “and must wait the telling at some future opportunity. But amongst other adventures I was carried off by a privateer. This is a common sailorman, who assisted me to escape and was hurt in so doing.”
“Indeed!” De Brito answered with a sneer. I could read in his eyes that he did not believe my words. “But that I have your word for it I had not given you credit for playing the part of good Samaritan. How now! What are you staring at, old death’s head?”
Following the direction of his eyes, I saw that the old man had drawn gradually nearer during this brief conversation and was now gazing from one to the other of us with a peculiar expression upon his face. Meeting my eyes, he drew back hurriedly, muttering to himself. I turned again to De Brito.
“Enough!” I said impatiently. “The man is half a fool. And now the paper!”