Black Bartlemys Treasure

"And you such a timid man, Adam!"

"True, Martin, but there's occasion when a worm turneth." Here he took up the letter Godby had brought and breaking the seal, read it through, once with a glimmer of his grim smile, read it again and frowned and frowning, glanced across at me: "Here's matter concerning you, Martin, hark'ee!" And he read this: "To MASTER ADAM PENFEATHER: Should you chance upon the poore man that suffered lately in the pillory (by no order or will of mine) you will I charge you do all you may to succour him in any manner soever: This letter I do write in much haste to instruct you that I purpose to sail in the 'Faithfull Friend' along with you and my good cuzen Sir Rupert in this quest for my father. Moreover I will you should sail as speedily soon as may be.

As regardeth the poore young man afore-mentioned, if he be quite destitute as I do think him, and will take no money as I do judge most like, then Master Adam you shall offer to him such employ in my ship the 'Faithfull Friend' as he will accept.

And this is my wish and command.

JOAN BRANDON.

He is great and tall and fierce with yellow hair and cruell mouth, yet seemeth more cruell than he trulie is."

"So there you are to a hair, Martin, and here's our enterprise brought to nought if she sail on this venture!"

"Why then she mustn't sail!" says I.

"'Tis her ship, Martin, and she's a Brandon!"

"Then sail without her."

"And be taken before we're clear o' the Downs and strung up at Execution Dock for piracy."

"Why then if she goeth aboard I don't!"

"And wherefore not, Martin?"

"I'll take no service with a Brandon!"

"Aye verily there's your pride, Martin, which is cumbersome cargo."

"Call it what you will, I'll not sail."

"And your oath, comrade? Sail along o' me you must and shall! But having respect for your high-stomached pride you shall stow away in some hole or corner and she never know you're aboard."

Hereupon I scowled, but perceiving him so serene albeit a little grim, I said no more and he fell to pacing slowly back and forth, head bowed and hands locked behind him.

"I need you, Martin," says he at last, "aye, I need you even more than I thought, the one man I may trust to in a pinch. For, Martin, here's that I don't understand."

So saying he halted by the table, and presently taking up the dagger (and with a strange reluctance) fell to twisting it this way and that; finally he gave a sudden twist and the smiling head of the silver woman coming away, showed a hollow cavity, running the length of the haft, roomy and cunningly contrived. Slowly he fitted the head into place again and, laying the weapon down, shook his head: "Here's Bartlemy's dagger true enough, Martin," says he, touching its keen point. "Here's what found Bartlemy's black heart--aye, and many another! Here's what went hurtling over cliff in Tressady's fist--and yet here it lies--which is great matter for wonder, Martin. And, since 'tis here--why then--where sis the vile rogue Tressady? Which is matter for painful speculation, Martin--where?"