Since his height was such that it was impossible for him to stand upright in that low-ceilinged cabin, a stool was thrust forward for him by one of the ruffians of Leigh’s crew who had haled him from his confinement beneath the hatchway.
He sat down quite listlessly, and stared vacantly at the skipper. Master Leigh was somewhat discomposed by this odd calm when he had looked for angry outbursts. He dismissed the two seamen who fetched Sir Oliver, and when they had departed and closed the cabin door he addressed his captive.
“Sir Oliver,” said he, stroking his red beard, “ye’ve been most foully abused.”
The sunshine filtered through one of the horn windows and beat full upon Sir Oliver’s expressionless face.
“It was not necessary, you knave, to bring me hither to tell me so much.” he answered.
“Quite so,” said Master Leigh. “But I have something more to add. Ye’ll be thinking that I ha’ done you a disservice. There ye wrong me. Through me you are brought to know true friends from secret enemies; henceforward ye’ll know which to trust and which to mistrust.”
Sir Oliver seemed to rouse himself a little from his passivity, stimulated despite himself by the impudence of this rogue. He stretched a leg and smiled sourly.
“You’ll end by telling me that I am in your debt,” said he.
“You’ll end by saying so yourself,” the captain assured him. “D’ye know what I was bidden do with you?”
“Faith, I neither know nor care,” was the surprising answer, wearily delivered. “If it is for my entertainment that you propose to tell me, I beg you’ll spare yourself the trouble.”