The master of the Phoenix on the news being brought that Kirke would receive them immediately in the gunroom, was like to have turned tail incontinently and left Gervase to face the redoubtable soldier alone. “The boatswain yonder is an old crony of mine,” he said, “and we don´t often have a chance of a quiet word. I wish you all luck, but I think I´ll step forward and have a bit of speech while you do your errand.”
“By your leave, but the General must see you both, Master Douglas,” said the man who had brought the message; “if you don´t come now I´ll have to fetch you by the ears by-and-by. He hath ten thousand blue devils tearing his liver this morning, so that we cannot bind or hold him. But you have seen the General after a wet night with a head wind in the morning.”
“I was a fool to come aboard,” Douglas muttered. “Speak to him fair and soft, Mr. Orme,” he continued, taking Gervase by the arm, “if ye would have the tyke listen to ye, but for God´s sake don´t cross him.”
“I´ll tell him a plain story that wants no gloss,” Gervase answered. “You need not be afraid that I shall speak outside my commission. Now, sir, I am at your service.”
“He´ll get a flea in his ear,” muttered Douglas, letting go his arm, and dropping behind. “Send me well out of this.”
When they entered the gunroom, Gervase saw a small knot of officers seated at breakfast, which was nearly over. At the head of the table was the man he had come so far to seek and who carried the destiny of the city in his hands. His dark brow was blotched and seamed by excesses, his eyes were prominent and bloodshot, and his jaws, heavy and coarse, gave to his face an expression of ferocity and obstinacy. He lay back lazily in his chair, his throat divested of his cravat, and his richly-laced waistcoat unbuttoned and thrown open. For a time he did not seem to notice the new-comers, but continued his conversation in a languid way with the gentleman who sat on his left hand. Gervase who had come into the centre of the room, stood silent for a minute or two, waiting for some sign of recognition, but Kirke, studiously ignoring his presence, never once looked up. Then Gervase stung into action by what seemed merely studied insult, quietly came forward and laid Walker´s letter on the table.
“I was charged, sir, to deliver this into your hand without fail at the earliest moment. It brooks of no delay.”
“And who the devil are you, sir?”
“A humble gentleman who with some peril to himself has succeeded in escaping from the city and finding his way thither. But the letter I carry will tell its own tale.”
“They might have chosen a messenger with better manners,” said Kirke, taking up the missive, “but these citizens know no better.”