"We are fresh from eating and drinking," said Dan, "and have but looked in for a little chat, seeing that ye were not abed."
"Say your say, friends."
Dan did so, in his own roundabout fashion. He casually mentioned his voyages to the West, a theme of unfailing interest to any man dwelling on the shores of Plymouth Sound. Then he came to the real reason for his visit. He described the two sailors he had met in Plymouth. The fisherman had never seen them. Dan had guessed as much, but he wanted to be sure. Then he sketched Basil. The fisherman sat upright in a moment.
"I know him," he cried. "He has been amongst us, off and on, for more than a month. I'll take you to him."
But Dan would not trouble any one to do that.
"He knows me well enough," he replied, "and I would rather take him by surprise. We had a jolly time together last Christmas."
So the fisherman pointed out where Basil was staying, and his two callers took their leave, promising to look in upon him again in the morning.
Apart from the row of cottages stood the house in which Brother Basil was staying. At one time the place had made some pretensions to smartness. It was stone-built throughout and tiled. In the rear was an orchard of apple-trees; and a herb garden, now choked with weeds, separated the front of the house from the roadway. The place was in the occupation of a widow woman, whose late husband had once been a man of some means.
The night was sufficiently starlit for a sailor to pick his way with certainty, and the two men went rapidly forward. The gate in the fence stood ajar, and Dan went first to spy out the land. The front window was heavily shuttered, an unusual precaution to take on a fine night. Putting his eye to a chink, the sailor could just discern the shadowy outline of a man seated at a table. A rushlight stood beside him, and apparently he was reading. Passing on to the door, he found that the latch-string was pulled in through the latch-hole; the door was secure. Steadily, Dan pressed against it; it was firm as the wall, no play to and fro on latch and hinge. "Bolted," he muttered, and stole back to the fence, in whose shadow Nick was still standing. He whispered his report, and the two consulted together for a moment. Then both went round to the orchard, stole through a gap in the straggling hedge, and came over the grass to the rear of the house. A light shone through the unshuttered window.
"Ah!" exclaimed Dan, "this looks more like the home of honest people. Yon thief in front is bolted and barred. I warrant me the widow hath not pulled in her latch-string. We must open and enter. To knock would be to give warning to our man, who hath ears that gather sound quicker than doth a rabbit's."