And behind, in the direction of the marsh, the
poplars stretched in an irregular line.
Now the nearer of these blue pavilions was the home of Captain
Barker, who for more than two years had not crossed its threshold.
Yet he neither paused by its small blue gate nor glanced up the
gravelled path. Nor, though thirsty, did he turn aside to the porch
of the Fish and Anchor Inn; but kept along the privet hedge until he
came to the second blue gate. Here he drew up and stood for a moment
with his hand on the latch.
A trim lawn stretched before him to the door of the pavilion, and
here, on a rustic seat before an equally rustic table, sat a long
lean gentleman, in a suit of Lincoln green faced with scarlet, who
gazed into a pewter tankard. His sword lay on the turf beside him,
and a hat of soft cloth edged with feathers hung on the arm of the
bench.
This long gentleman looked up as the gate clicked, stretched out his
legs, rose, and disappeared within the pavilion, returning after a
minute with a jug of beer and a fresh tankard.
"Paid off your crew already?"
The little hunchback took a pull, answered "No" as he set down the
tankard, and looked up at the weathercock overhead.
"Wind's in the south-east."
The long man looked at the little one and pursed up his mouth.
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