Desmond advanced to the smaller table. The two men looked up from their
game of dominoes. One was a tall, lean fellow, with lined and sunken
cheeks covered with iron-gray stubble, a very sharp nose, and colorless
eyes; the expression of his features was melancholy in the extreme. The
other was a shorter man, snub-nosed, big-mouthed; one eye was blue, the
other green, and they looked in contrary directions. His hat was tilted
forward, resting on two bony prominences above his eyebrows.

"Well?" said Mr. Toley, the man of melancholy countenance.

"I have a message from Captain Barker," said Desmond. "I am to say that
he expects you and the men at Custom House Quay next Wednesday morning,
high tide at five o'clock."

Mr. Toley lifted the tankard at his left hand, drained it, smacked his
lips, then said in a hollow voice:

"Bulger, Custom House Quay, Wednesday morning, five o'clock."

A grunt of satisfaction and relief rolled round the company, and in
response to repeated cries for more beer a stout woman in a mob cap and
dirty apron came from the inn with a huge copper can, from which she
proceeded to fill the empty tankards.

"Is the press still hot, sir?" asked Mr. Toley.

"Yes. Four men, I was told, were hauled out of the Good Intent
yesterday."

"And four bad bargains for the king," put in the second man, whose cross