"No; tall and thin, with a stoop. Long white hair, longer beard and black eyes like gimblets," gabbled the cook. "I met 'im arter dark one evenin', and I declare as 'is eyes were glow-worms. Ugh! They looked me through and through. I've never bin the same woman since." At this moment a raucous voice came from the inner doorway. "What the devil's all this?" was the polite question. Cicero turned, and saw a heavily-built man surveying the company in general, and himself in particular, anything but favorably. His face was a mahogany hue, and he had a veritable tangle of whiskers and hair. The whole cut of the man was distinctly nautical, his trousers being of the dungaree, and his pea-jacket plentifully sprinkled with brass buttons. In his ears he wore rings of gold, and his clenched fists hung by his side as though eager for any emergency, and "the sooner the better." That was how he impressed Cicero, who, in nowise fancying the expression on his face, edged towards the door. "Oh, Joe!" shrieked the cook, "wot a turn you give me! an' sich news as we've 'ad!" "News!" said Joe uneasily, his eyes still on Cicero. "Mrs. Warrender's lost her husband, and the Quiet Gentleman's disappeared mysterious!" "Rubbish! Get to your work, all of you!" So saying, Joe drove the frightened crowd hither and thither to their respective duties, and Cicero, somewhat to his dismay, found himself alone with the buccaneer, as he had inwardly dubbed the newcomer. "Who the devil are you?" asked Joe, advancing. "Fellow," replied Cicero, getting into the doorway, "I am a friend of your late master. Cicero Gramp is my name. I came here to see Dick Marlow, but I find he's gone aloft." Joe turned pale, even through his tan. "A friend of Mr. Marlow," he repeated hoarsely. "That's a lie! I've been with him these thirty years, and I never saw you!" "Not in Jamaica?" inquired Cicero sweetly. "Jamaica? What do you mean?" "What I wrote in that letter your master received before he died." "Oh, you liar! I know the man who wrote it." Joe clenched his fists more tightly and swung forward. "You're a rank impostor, and I'll hand you over to the police, lest I smash you completely!" Cicero saw he had made a mistake, but he did not flinch. Hardihood alone could carry him through now. "Do," he said. "I'm particularly anxious to see the police, Mr. Joe Brill." "Who are you, in Heaven's name?" shouted Joe, much agitated. "Do you come from him?" "Perhaps I do," answered Cicero, wondering to whom the "him" might now refer. "Then go back and tell him he's too late--too late, curse him! and you too, you lubber!" "Very good." Cicero stepped out into the hot sunshine. "I'll deliver your message--for a sovereign."