He made his way toward St. James’s, and paused in the street of that same name, before a big house with a pompous portico. A flight of steps led up to the great door.
“Run up—and knock.”
The boy obeyed, his breeches bringing a smile to the sea-captain’s face as he waited unconcernedly on the sidewalk.
“Don’t mind your knuckles, my lad.”
And Sparkin hammered as though he were sounding the ship’s bell.
A servant in livery opened the door and looked down at the boy with the air of a bully scenting a beggar. The man in the red coat listened to the following dialogue:
“My Lord Gore’s house, this?”
“What d’you want at the front door?”
“Lord Gore’s house?”
“Oh—is it?”