"Be calm, my friends," said the Third Vice-President, placidly. "I have already said that I do not wish to find fault. I desire to be generous. It is my wish. In fact, I forgive you freely. Whatever bitterness you may have caused us, we are willing to believe that it was not intentional. The Daft Committee forgives you; freely. Let us be peaceful. It only remains to decide what steps we shall take to meet the future. I submit to you this question: whether we shall first go to the pirates' home in High Dudgeon, or return at once to the City of Towers, to confess our failure and receive our--Hark! I thought I heard a knock." Everyone listened. There was indeed the sound of knocking, muffled but quite audible. The group standing about the table looked from one to another in silence. Was this some new danger? Were there other pirates to be reckoned with? The Churchwarden put his hand to his back pocket, to be ready with his bottle. "I think it comes from within this room," said the Third Vice-President. All eyes examined the room. The walls were unbroken, except by window-slits on one side, the open doorway on another, and on a third a closed door, which no one had before observed. Toby walked over to this closed door, and placed his ear against it. A muffled knock sounded from within. Toby nodded his head to the others, and tried the door. It was locked. "Lend me your key, Aunt Amanda," said he; and when she had given it to him he inserted it in the lock and turned it and threw wide the door. Inside was a dark closet hung with cloaks. On the floor sat a man. Toby stepped back in amazement. The man sat motionless, his legs crossed, gazing out into the lighted room. After a second or two he rose, and stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. He said not a word, but continued to rub his eyes until they evidently became used to the light, and gave two or three sniffs, as if he smelt an odour, and found it far from agreeable. He was a thickset man, dressed in sailor's clothes, in no way like the clothes the pirates had worn. His eyes were small and very close together; his nose was broken and flat; his lower jaw stuck out beyond his upper; an unpleasant fellow enough, if looks were anything. In his belt he carried a long knife. His sailor collar was cut low in front, and his chest was tattooed in red and blue ink. As he hesitated in the doorway, sniffing the air uneasily and blinking his eyes, the Chairman of the Daft Committee spoke in his calm voice. "Come in, my good sir," said he. "I should like to take the liberty of asking you a few questions." The sailorman walked slowly into the room and looked about him. "What's that there smell in the air?" said he. "Nothing only my Odour of Sanctity," said the Churchwarden. "I don't like it," said the sailorman.