"'Sdeath, man!" exclaimed Burrell, hastily, after a pause of some
minutes; "art asleep, or stupid?"
"Neither," replied the Buccaneer. "But I will do your bidding. Now,
write your directions,--here are pens, ink, paper, all that you
require,--and my reward; write, sir, and then good night." Burrell did
so, while Dalton paced up and down his den, as if meditating and
arranging some action of importance. All matters being agreed upon,
apparently to the satisfaction of both, they were about to separate,
when Burrell inquired-"Did you land any Cavaliers lately?"
"Not I; they are but a bad freight; broad pieces are a scarce commodity
with Charlie's friends."
"Very strange. I met a braggart the other night, but I dare say he was
one of the Syndercomb gang. His highness imagines you conveyed some of
them to their head-quarters."
"Does he?"
"Master Dalton, you are close."
"Master Burrell, I have agreed to do your business."
"Well!"
"I mean it to be well. Consequently, I have not agreed to tell you
mine."
Burrell looked daggers for a moment, and then turned off with a hasty
step and a forced laugh.
"Blasted be my hand for touching his in the way of amity!" exclaimed the
Buccaneer, striking the table with a violence that echoed through the
room. "The cold-blooded, remorseless villain! She is too good for such a
sacrifice--I must be at work. And so, one infamy at a time is not enough
for the sin-dealing land lubber; he wanted to worm out of me---- Robin!
ahoy! Robin!"
Dalton stepped to the outside of the still open door; and on the instant
descended from the communicating stair leading to the Gull's Nest, not
Robin, but him of the grey steed and black cloak, who was so near
falling a victim to Burrell's treachery on a recent occasion.