within. It was like being outside a lion's cage.

People appeared and disappeared in front of the lighted door; windows
stood open, with heads craning out all along the inn face. I was
hurrying off the back of my horse when the admiral came out on to the
steps. Someone lit a torch, and the admiral became a dark, solid figure,
with the flash of the gold lace on his coat. He stood very high in the
leg; had small white whiskers, and a large nose that threw a vast shadow
on to his forehead in the upward light; his high collar was open, and a
mass of white appeared under his chin; his head was uncovered. A third
male face, very white, bobbed up and down beside his shining left
shoulder. He kept on saying:

"What? what? what? Hey, what?... That man?" He appeared to be halfway
between supreme content and violent anger. At last he delivered himself.
"Let's duck him... hey?... Let's duck him!" He spoke with a sort of
benevolent chuckle, then raised his voice and called, "Tinsley! Tinsley!
Where the deuce is Tinsley?"

A high nasal sound came from the carriage window. "Sir Charles! Sir
Charles! Let there be no scene in my presence, I beg."

I suddenly saw, halfway up, laboriously ascending the steps, a black
figure, indistinguishable at first on account of deformities. It was
David Macdonald. Since his last, really terrible comments on the failure
of the boat-attack, he had been lying hidden somewhere. It came upon me
in a flash that he was making his way from one hiding place to another.
In making his escape from Spanish Town, either to Kingston or the
Vale, he had run against the admiral and his party returning from the
Topnambos' ball. It was hardly a coincidence: everyone on the road met