“I am here, mate, about that young man I mentioned to ye the other evenin’,” said the mariner. “Have ye seen him yet?” In an instant the landlord, afraid as he was of this fellow, arrived at the conclusion that his presence in that house was not at all required. The sooner he was quit of him the better. The young man he sought might very possibly be upstairs; he might prove to be either my Lord Farnham or the King; but things were very well as they were. This Diggory Fargus could not improve them; he might very possibly undo them though. “I have seen no young man,” said Gamaliel shortly. “And I don’t much want to see one. This is a peaceable and honest inn.” “I never said it weren’t,” said the mariner. “But have you had any comp’ny, mate, these three days?” “None to speak of,” said the landlord. “Have you got any now?” asked the mariner. “I have not,” said the landlord. “Then, mate,” said the mariner, spitting freely amongst the logs on the hearth, “you’re a liar.” That was so trite a fact to Gamaliel, that he did not attempt to contradict it. He was not a little disconcerted by it, however. “Now I’ll tell ye, mate, how I know ye’re a liar,” said the sailor, with a slow anger that made him far more formidable than an outburst would have done. “The candles are comin’ through the chinks in the shutters of that front chamber over the sign. Perhaps ye’ll tell me that that don’t mean comp’ny; but in any case Diggory Fargus is a-going up to look with his own blessed deadlight, and ye can lay to that, mate.” Without condescending to parley further with the landlord, who had plainly none of his confidence, Diggory Fargus got up from the fire and lurched to the stairs. “What are you about, man?” said the landlord excitedly. “It is no place for you, up there! There are lords and ladies up there.” “I knew you were a liar,” said the grimly satisfied mariner. “Lords and ladies, is they? Well, like as not, that’s just who I’ve come to see. What moight be their names, mate?” The landlord, seeing that it was hopeless to throw more dust in the shrewd sailor’s eye, submitted with the best grace he could summon. “Well, there’s my Lord Farnham for one,” he said. “My Lord Farnham, is there?” said the sailor. “Well, mate, I calls that sing’lar, seein’ as how my Lord Farnham is the very young man I’m wantin’.” “I will conduct you to him, then,” said the landlord. He had lost the game; but he spoke as cheerfully and obligingly as he could, for he was keenly desirous to propitiate this ugly devil of a mariner. Besides, one sailor more or less did not matter much at this stage. The time was growing very short. The hoofs of the soldiers’ horses would soon be heard on the road. Diggory Fargus or ten Diggory Farguses would then be of no avail. The landlord put his best leg foremost, and led the sailor up the rickety stairs to the chamber where the King sat in the society of the Earl of Farnham and his Countess. He knocked a little timidly upon the door.