"Mine?" says Penfeather, softly.
"Aye. 'Here's a black passage to Captain Penfeather--curse him!" says a voice. 'Aye,' says another, 'by knife or bullet or--' and here he falls to singing of a knife and a bullet and a hook. 'Avast!' says a third voice. 'Belay that, Abny, you'll be having all the lubbers about the place aboard of us!' 'Why,' says the man Abny, 'since you're wi' us well and good, but don't forget we was hard in his wake, aye, and ready to lay him aboard long before you hove in sight and damn all, says I.' 'Some day, Abny, some day,' says the other, "I shall cut out that tongue o' yourn and watch ye eat it, lad, eat it--hist, here cometh Gregory at last--easy all.' Now the moon was very bright, master, and looking out o' my hay-pile as the door opened I spied this rogue Gregory--"
"Did ye see aught o' the others?" questioned Adam.
"No master, not plain, for they kept to the dark, but I could see they was four and one a very big man. 'Ha' ye got it, friend, ha' ye got it?' says the big rogue. 'No, plague on't!' says Gregory. 'Look how I will, I can find nought.' 'Here's luck!' says the big fellow, 'Bad luck, as I'm a soul. Where's he lie?' 'Can't say,' says Gregory. 'His messages go to the Conisby Arms, but he aren't there, I know.' 'The Faithful Friend, was it,' says the big fellow, 'a-lying off Deptford Creek?' 'Aye, the Faithful Friend,' says Gregory, and then chancing to look outside, claps finger to lip and comes creeping into the shadow. 'Lie low!' says he in a whisper--here's my lady!' And then, master, close outside comes my lady's voice calling 'Gregory! Gregory!' 'Answer, fool!' whispers the big man. 'Quick, or she'll be athwart our cable!' 'Here, my lady!' says Gregory and steps out o' the stable as she's about to step in. 'Gregory,' says she in hesitating fashion, 'have ye seen a stranger hereabouts to-night?' 'Not a soul, my lady!' says Gregory. 'A tall, wild man,' says she, 'very ragged and with yellow hair?' 'No, my lady,' says Gregory. Here she gives a sigh. 'Why then,' says she, 'bear you this letter to Master Penfeather--at once.' 'To the Conisby Arms, my lady?' says Gregory. 'No,' says she, 'to the Peck-o'-Malt by Bedgebury Cross. And, Gregory, should you see aught of the poor man that suffered lately in the pillory, say I would speak with him. And now saddle and begone with my letter.' 'To Bedgebury,' says Gregory, 'the Peck-o'-Malt--to-night, my lady?' 'This moment!' says she, mighty sharp. 'And, Gregory, I hear tales of your hard dealing with some of the tenantry: let me hear no more or you quit my service!' And away she goes, leaving Gregory staring after her, letter in hand. ''Twas she!' says the big man in a whisper. 'I'd know her voice anywhere--aye, 'twas she whipped it from my girdle, my luck, shipmates--our luck, but we'll find it if we have to pull the cursed house down brick and brick.'"